Don't Get Over It
by RianneHime
Summary: Lucius, being an unlucky guy, gets caught in a rather . . . compromising situation. Raven, of course, gets possessive, and Matthew and Guy get . . . ah . . . -shounen-ai- MG RL
1. Part One: Morning

-----------summary------------------  
  
Lucius, being an unlucky guy(?), gets caught in a rather . . . compromising   
situation. Raven, of course, gets possessive, and Matthew and Guy get . . .  
well . . . cough -Shounen-Ai-  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And I do own Rekka no Ken. I have three fifty in change and a toothpick,   
let's just SEE you sue me. . . and yes, that was sarcasm.   
  
Rated for ecchi scenes (KISSING! gasp, shock, wheeze), mild cussing, and   
violence. And uh, yeah. It's got LUCIUS, of course it's gonna have   
shounen-ai. Raven/Lucius, Matthew/Guy  
  
huggles beta, R Amythest Much thanks for your patience! I was gonna wait  
until I'd finished the whole thing and passed it onto you, but . . . I'm almost done,  
except for a few scenes that are hella hard to write. However . . . aforementioned  
scenes are in awkward places, ie, directly in the middle of the fic.  
  
-------------------------------start fic-------------------------  
  
Monks, by nature, have to be very willing to help others. Our entire job   
involves helping people who don't know how to help themselves . . .. either   
that, or too stubborn not to ask. Or prideful. Or vengeful . . . (koff   
RAVEN! koff) In any case, having a tendency to pry into other's business   
can be actually useful to a monk, because it lets us find their problems and   
guide them carefully to the solution.  
  
However, being nosy has just as many consequences. I didn't realize it at   
the time of course, but when I woke up that morning, I had no idea what   
would happen over that day. I didn't know that I would wake up the next day   
and have made so many mistakes in such a short period of time, and yet somehow,   
miraculously, not regret a bit of it.  
  
I guess that didn't make very much sense. Let me start at the beginning.  
My name is Lucius, a loyal retainer (of sorts) to Lord Raymond. That's Raven   
to you, and everyone else. . . except Priscilla, but let's not get into   
specifics. . .. I am a monk in the order of St. Elimine, and despite   
appearances, I'm positively sure I'm male.

It had been late in the morning. I had just finished my daily fight with my   
hair, and was trying to open my charm box. My box had all my saints' charms   
in it, not only Elimine's but all the others as well. I took them off for   
safe keeping every night, but the miniature and unfinished wooden chest was   
refusing to open. I bit my lip . . .. was this a bad omen?  
  
I put it back in my small bag - while reminding myself to pick up shampoo, I   
went through bottles of the stuff like mad and still do - and sat down on   
the cot. I ended up with my elbows on my knees and the heels of my hands   
supporting my chin. Frowning, I concentrated on a solution, but only found   
that there were twenty-two spots on the tent cloth. Not that I was --

" --Lucius." Startled, I let out a small sound as I jerked up,   
interrupted mid-thought.  
  
Raven was standing at the opening to my tent, looking vaguely concerned. And   
I do mean vaguely, because milord isn't given to expressing emotion unless   
absolutely necessary . . . my heart skipped a beat  
  
. . . Let me elaborate on that. Raven was worried about me, and in   
reaction, one of my internal organs leaped up, squealed in joy, and ran off   
to tell my lungs to catch, my stomach to tie itself into a knot, and my legs   
to do a lime jello impression. Raven . . . just stood there. That should   
tell you a few things about me and Raven's . . .. . well, NONEXISTANT   
relationship. . . I'm pretty sure Raven likes that archer, Rebecca.  
  
"Yes, Lord Raymond?" I didn't fake my lilting tones, I was happy to see him  
(certainly more than I let on to anyone). But I supposed traces of my worry   
must have shown, because his frown deepened from adorably irritated to   
serious concern. He didn't say anything to express this, of course, merely   
sent a questioning and demanding glare in my direction. I didn't want to   
concern him with my petty problems -- a stuck jewelry box wasn't a priority   
- so I shook my head lightly, letting my hair swish freely before I gave him   
a reassuring smile.  
  
Crossing the small tent in one stride, he stepped up beside my low cot and  
offered a hand to help me up, and I took it gratefully. Expecting him merely   
to act as an anchor, I let out a small sound as he grabbed my other wrist   
and practically picked me up. I looked at him strangely, an he cocked an   
eyebrow and gestured at my hip-scarf.  
  
My empty hip-scarf. The one I normally wrapped a dozen or so saint amulets   
on, the one that made a racket when I so much as moved, and even more so   
during a vigorous spell casting. I flushed mildly at their conspicuous   
absence, and even more so at Raven's proximity. Sidling past him delicately   
-- and cursing the lack of space in my tent, thank goodness Erk and Canas   
had already left -- I lifted the broken box and tried once more to unlock it.  
Raven lifted it from my hands and inspected it, before shrugging and handing   
it back. Of course, what did he know of stuck locks and . . ..  
  
Locks. Of course. Matthew would know what to do, he'd probably picked far   
more complicated chests and such, this was trivial to his master skills as a   
. . . well, I shouldn't say 'thief' in so many words but . . . I smiled   
triumphantly at my genius plan. After all, it shouldn't take that long to   
find Matthew. All I had to do was follow Guy's wails of distress.  
  
Seeing my reassured smile, Raven gave my wrist a parting squeeze and turned,   
and after one last concerned glance back, he left my tent.

I sighed. What a wonderful . . . conversation? Yes, that question mark is   
supposed to be there. We hadn't spoken five words between the two of us. What   
exactly did you call our little . . . interaction, anyway? I couldn't even   
stand to call it scant communication.  
  
I tucked my box into my robes and slung my cape over my shoulders, and   
smoothed out the cloth at my hips. Why my monastery insisted on giving me   
such form fitting robes when they gave everyone else the same shapeless   
smock. . .. I don't know. Not that I complained, I rather liked the snug   
fit. The old Bishop, at least, seemed to like it. . .. I'm sure in his old   
age, the drooling was absolutely normal . . . I hope. . ..  
  
I shuddered and headed outside myself, and of course Raven was already out   
of sight. The fire near our magic-users combined tents was surrounded by a   
few of my companions.  
  
Serra winked at me cheerily, and hummed as she lifted her plate to show me.   
"Hey! Lucius!" she called, practically bubbling, "Gonna join us for   
breakfast?"  
  
The cleric was sitting across Erk and Canas, who both were absorbed in   
books. Lady Priscilla was sitting near as well, and I nodded acknowledgement   
to her as I replied to Serra, "No, I'm afraid I can't," I said regretfully,   
"I need to find Matthew."  
  
Erk gave a small 'Hn' sound. "I'm fairly certain I heard Guy's shout of   
misery and indignation from that way," he pointed out the direction   
morosely.   
  
Serra cackled gleefully. "And whenever Guy is ticked off, totally   
pissed, or generally cheesed . . ." she sang happily.  
  
Canas leaned forward and gave a conspiratorial grin, "Matthew is sure to be   
near!" Erk snorted again as Serra fell onto her side, clutching her ribs in   
a fit of laughter; Lady Priscilla tried not to look as if she was amused as   
well, but failed, and ducked her smile behind her palm bashfully.

"Oh, don't be so mean," she protested ineffectually, smiling still. "Guy is   
so . . . charming, the rest of the time," she giggled, weakly forcing down   
her laughter. I shook my head silently.  
  
I suppose, I thought as I walked down the makeshift path down the center of   
the camp, that Matthew had some sort of reason for picking on Guy. Not that   
anyone KNEW it was Matthew, but . . . strange things seemed to happen when   
he was near the Sacaean. Like, say, Guy's braid suddenly becoming undone and   
getting caught on trees, or his tunic sash becoming mysteriously 'lost' and   
Guy having to go around with his shirt open until he found it in mysterious   
places . . . like Matthew's pocket. Or like that strange time when Guy   
wouldn't leave his tent for half a day until someone returned an essential   
object to him . . . his pants. I don't even want to think how Matthew got   
his hands on those.  
  
In any case, Matthew loved picking on Guy. Guy . . . seemed to just plain   
hate Matthew. He'd constantly provoke immature contests and races with   
Matthew to prove he was 'both honorable and better'. . . but since he   
refused to cheat, and Matthew always did, Matthew . . . always won. It was  
pointless battle between two stubborn wills and completely opposite senses   
of . . . well . . . everything else.  
  
I didn't suspect a reason, and tried hard to frown upon upon Matthew's   
behavior, but more often ended up in fits of laughter because of it. Guy   
complained -- and loudly -- but he always bounced back in time for Matthew's   
next assault. Which was why I was surprised to find Guy, of all people,   
sulking.  
  
Guy never sulked, he hacked at things with sharp objects until his feelings   
were vented. Which sometimes took awhile, but . . . there he was, sitting on   
a tree stump, his shoulders hunched forward, his elbows leaning heavily on   
his knees, and his braid drooping beside his serious face. His face was   
usually serious, mind you, but this time there was a certain gravity to his   
expression, like the corners of his mouth were pulled down that much farther.  
  
I cleared my throat hesitantly, stepping forward slowly. "Guy?"

"Hmm?" came the uninterested reply.  
  
I walked quietly beside him. He looked . . .. depressed. I didn't say   
anything, but knelt beside the stump, peering up at his face. He seemed to   
be staring intently down at a clump of grass, but from the way his eyes were   
focused, his mind was clearly elsewhere. I shrugged and stared a the clump   
of grass as well. I might be there awhile, but Matthew might have popped in   
during one of his more bored moods to tease Guy some more. . . I sat as   
still as possible  
  
This . . . was something I had learned with Lord Raven. Most men were too  
proud to want a shoulder to cry on, but if you gave them something as simple   
as company and quiet, they end up forming a strange sort of bond and   
spilling their souls anyway. It's almost a strange form of manipulation, but   
that's all cheering people up involved; manipulating their thoughts to the   
bright side of things.  
  
I grew accustomed to the strange, not-quite-uncomfortable silence, but Guy   
seemed awkward with it. "You know," he said slowly, looking down at me   
almost nervously. I didn't acknowledge him saying anything except by a quick   
glance at him. The silence stretched on.  
  
"I'm not going to win very soon," Guy said slowly. I blinked twice at that;   
Guy was getting doubtful of his abilities? "Against Matthew, I mean. Never,   
maybe," he continued ponderously, "Matthew . . .. and Matthew won't use   
those favors, ever; he'll just hoard them and dangle them over my head." He   
frowned even more. "I think . . . what should I do?"  
  
Well, I certainly couldn't blatantly deny him advice, despite my   
clueless-ness about the situation. I cleared my throat. "Well . . . in your   
home, Sacae, honor is everything . . . and you don't lie because such a   
thing would compromise your honor." I turned to him; he didn't say anything.  
"However, most Sacaens learn to . . . twist the truth, telling half-truths   
in such a way that they aren't lying, but . . . " I paused, looking for   
words.  
  
Guy looked at me. "True."  
  
"Well," I smiled lightly at him. "If one path does not take you where you  
want to go, take another," I quoted, gesturing eloquently with my arm to the   
forest behind us.  
  
Guy stared blankly at me, and blinked. I sighed. "You said you couldn't win   
because Matthew always cheated . . . " Guy nodded, and I stood lightly,   
brushing off my robes. "Well, suppose you stretched the rules slightly, just   
as you stretch the truth . . ." I spoke slowly with my head down. Subtlety  
was the key . . .  
  
He frowned, and looked up. "It might work, I guess . . .."  
  
Ah. I was getting somewhere; now I just had to convince him to get his   
confidence back. I clapped my hand on his shoulder in what I hoped passed as   
a 'manly' expression of camaraderie -- 'manly' expressions of anything are   
hard for me, you must understand -- and gave a confident grin. "Just refine   
it a bit, it's a start. Take your best ability and add on from there," I   
elaborated.  
  
Guy stayed seated there for about a good five seconds, letting my hand rest   
on his shoulder in support. When he snapped up straight, his eyes taking on   
a new, determined glow, I tilted my head curiously. Before I could so much   
as squeak, however, he bolted out of his seat and pulled me into what's   
commonly known as a 'man hug,' where he grabbed my forearm and practically   
beat the tar out of me with his other arm via 'manly' slaps on the back. I   
struggled to both ignore the many bruises he was creating and to return the   
gesture with my -- I'm sad to say -- pitifully weak arms.  
  
"Lucius, you are a genius!" He crowed loudly. I was released from the hold   
as abruptly as I was snatched into it and managed to mutter, "Thanks, you're   
. . . too kind . . ." while unconsciously rubbing my shoulder bone. It was my   
job, after all, to make people feel better. He didn't have to thank me so   
. . . brutally. Guy gave me a cocky grin. "I totally owe you a drink, next   
town over, all right?"  
  
Eww . . . alcohol tasted nasty, I could remember that from my last   
experience with the stuff. I shuddered and said politely, "I don't drink,   
but . . . I suppose a juice would do." Not totally grudgingly, I mentally   
admitted that I really did enjoy the cranberry juice I'd had in the last inn   
and wouldn't mind another. Guy waved it off flippantly, a startling contrast   
to his previous depression.  
  
"Sure, whatever you want," he said, almost as if it were a boast. I peered   
at his face even closer; there was a strange glint in his eye as he imagined   
whatever he'd managed to concoct from my broad words of wisdom. Now that I   
mention it, I'd never really inspired anyone before with those kinds of   
words, I just made them feel better for a few minutes. Guy, it seemed, had a   
very active imagination. He . . . didn't even seem to be there at the   
moment.  
  
"See you, Lucius. I'm off to . . ." Guy grinned widely, "'talk' to Matthew   
now." He spun on his heel with a jaunty whistle, and after a running his   
right hand lightly over his Killing Edge's hilt, lightly walked in the   
direction of the forest path, his long braid bouncing as happily as its   
owner was.  
  
I waved goodbye, and clasped my hands together in front of me. It always   
gave me such a warm, glowing sort of feeling whenever I helped people.   
Sniffling, I turned away, tossing my hair, wiping some dirt -- I swear it was   
just dirt -- from my eye. It was so wonderful to see people happy and . . .   
and . . ..  
  
Wait. Guy just left . . .right? . . . and, Guy was going to see Matthew .   
. . right? I really needed to see Matthew, too, now that I remembered . . .   
and preferably before Guy sliced him into ribbons. . . Yelping a short cry   
of dismay, I skidded to a stop before turning to run towards the path.   
Grabbing my robes at the knees and lifting them, I went at a sort of   
skipping jog. I'm a horrible runner, really I am. I usually have to get   
Heath to carry me where I need to be. . . but that's besides the point.  
  
It didn't help that I was wearing the equivalent to a dress, and my heeled   
boots caught on a rock. With a muffled cry, I toppled forward, landing hard   
on my side. I skidded, and ended up just laying there for a few moments.

Ouch . . . I gingerly pulled myself onto my elbow, and drew my hand up to  
rub the side of my head surreptitiously. It was only then I realized that the   
sharp, clashing sounds of a swordfight were very close to my right. Were   
Matthew and Guy at it already?  
  
I blinked, and dragged myself over to watch. I was partially hidden by a   
bush, but I doubted they wanted any distractions in any case, so I thought   
it wise to stay covered.  
  
Guy was standing in front of Matthew, his Killing Edge drawn and ready.  
Matthew looked positively gleeful; his grin was so wide he looked as though   
he'd gotten to the cream before the cat had even had a chance.  
  
"--won't lose to you!" Guy cried out, and a shockingly fast onslaught of   
flurry strikes followed. Even Matthew, I could see, was hard pressed to   
avoid them, and he struck back with a sharp parry before back-flipping a safe   
distance away, skidding backwards and having to use his hand to steady him.   
Pressing the advantage, Guy imitated Lord Eliwood's dash strike and closed   
the gap, and Matthew dodged by a sidestep. However, Guy's right slash caught   
him by surprise, and the thief's eyes widened as his cape was torn through   
by the blade.  
  
Guy leaped back, avoiding Matthew's counterstrike. After a cursory   
inspection of his cape, Matthew looked up again. "Lucky blow." He smirked  
and leaped into the air, disappearing into the tree canopy. I blinked. Was   
that supposed to happen . . ? Guy seemed used to it. He closed his eyes and   
raised his sword into a ready position, waiting for something . . . an   
attack? His breathing was calm and slow, and I tried unsuccessfully to copy   
it.  
  
The next few blows happened extremely fast. Matthew leaped from the trees at   
an odd angle, somersaulting towards Guy. Guy brought up his sword, and   
Matthews long dagger let out a sharp rasp as it slid off Guy's blade. It was   
a stunning counter, but the attack left Guy no time to guard against the   
swift kick that followed soon after.  
  
The swordmaster was sent sprawling on his back, a rough bounce following his   
harsh impact. Matthew practically flew to him, obviously going to pin him   
down by the throat. Guy rolled to the side almost sluggishly, and gave a   
long and sloppy swipe to buy time. The thief dodged it and dived onto Guy,   
his knife darting toward Guy's throat. I muffled a squeal and hid my face   
behind my hands, forgetting that the two weren't actually fighting for the   
death.  
  
The shuffling sounds of movement stopped, and I peeked through my fingers   
slowly. Matthew was straddling Guy's waist, the swordmaster's killing   
edge lying a few feet away. The dagger was stopped, shuddering scarcely half   
an inch above Guy's pulsing throat. Guy blinked up at Matthew almost   
bewilderedly.  
  
"Really, Guy, you need to do better then that." Matthew shook his head, and   
clambered up, brushing off his cape casually. "Although I'm surprised you   
haven't started to shout about the unfairness of it all, you've shown   
definite improvement."  
  
He glanced down at Guy, who hadn't bothered to get up. Guy was looking at   
Matthew . . . very strangely.  
  
The thief gulped, hard, and his voice cracked slightly as he continued to   
speak. "Of course, that sideswipe was extremely unexpected -- and the key to   
winning is being able to surprise. . ."  
  
Guy was still looking up at Matthew. My sight of the pair was perfectly   
clear, and Matthew faltered in his words as he caught Guy's heated stare,   
and looked away quickly, talking still, but a bit more hoarsely then before.   
I'm not sure exactly what that stare contained, but I was feeling the waves   
off of it, and a warmth in my stomach flickered into my attention. I   
swallowed, and watched the Guy stare the other down.  
  
Quite suddenly I realized -- I should leave. Something was going to happen,   
I knew it. I don't want to see what happens next . . .. Unwisely, I shoved my   
instincts down.  
  
Matthew caught Guy's eyes once more, and couldn't seem to pull away. He   
stopped talking, and cleared his throat. Numerous times. Guy was quiet, a   
strange occurrence, but the thief didn't twitch.  
  
"-- and . . . ah, Guy . . ." Matthew said almost pleadingly, "Tell me why   
you're staring at me like --"  
  
His words were silenced -- as with blinding speed Guy's mouth crashed into   
his. Matthew's eyes blinked wide, and his hands fell automatically to the   
swordmaster's waist as Guy twined an arm around the thief's neck. Staggering   
under the unexpected weight, he fell backwards, dragging a purring Guy with   
him.  
  
I was . . . considerably distraught, to say the least, for many reasons. One   
was that two people who supposedly hated each other were gratuitously   
sucking at each other's faces. Another was the fact that the once pleasant   
warmth in my belly had grown to cover my entire body in fiery shivers, and   
that my mouth wanted to make strange noises without my permission . . . and   
another was that I was actually THERE, watching them, like a cheap voyeur.   
  
Yet, even for all of that . . ..  
  
I couldn't tear my eyes away.  
  
I watched almost hungrily as Matthew frantically undid Guy's braid, trying   
to run his nimbly working fingers through the long free-flowing hair. Guy's   
one free hand, the one that wasn't holding him above the other's chest,   
massaged Matthew's temple with his thumb, somehow keeping their lips locked   
and working at the same time.  
  
I fell into a crouch, for some reason fearing detection even though they   
were wholeheartedly ignoring everything else around them.  
I watched as Matthew ran his fingers down Guy's now undone hair to lightly   
grip the sides of Guy's ribs, and in return had his had his hair ruffled by   
deft fingers. A strangled sort of moan escaped from one's lips -- I couldn't   
be sure whose -- but it was swallowed by the other.  
  
I noticed that Guy's free hand was pointedly being raised . . . what was   
he doing with . . .  
  
I watched as he suddenly pressed a dagger to Matthew's throat.  
  
Slapping a hand to my mouth to stifle my cry, I turned my head away. No.  
Surely not. Surely Guy had not gone so far as brazen . . . seduction,   
surely he'd not decided that this was the only answer. I glanced back, and   
could only watch, helplessly, the events unfold before me. Guy was suddenly   
still, compared to the . . . movement he had shown only a few seconds   
before.  
  
Matthew froze, halting deliberately, almost disbelievingly. He pulled his   
head back from suddenly unresponsive lips, seeming almost reluctant to do   
so, and the swordmaster's face looked . . . old. Far older than his sixteen   
years.  
  
"I win." The words were soft and slow, and I could scarcely recognize Guy's   
voice.  
  
Matthew's expression was blank, a perfect mask against the quiet searching   
eyes of his former opponent. "And of your Sacaen honor?"  
  
"Where have I bruised it?" Guy countered, in a lame attempt of a defensive   
tone. His voice was slow and sluggish . . . he sounded tired. He reached   
around Matthew and into the tear he had torn in his cape. The tear, I   
realized, had cut into a hidden pocket in the thief's cape. He pulled out a   
folded, and rather dirty, sheet of paper. . . was that the 'oathpaper' that   
Guy ranted continually about?  
  
Guy got up, leaving Matthew sitting. The mask Matthew held under Guy's   
perusal wasn't a perfect one. I could sense . . . something the normally   
casual and cheery face never held, and I shrunk down even more, my long hair   
slipping in front of my stunned face. Guy's eyes were shut, his face   
clenched in something as he walked stoically away, his plait bouncing in a   
jovial dance that belied the tense emotions in the clearing.  
  
I didn't watch him as he left. I had my eyes on Matthew. He looked . . .   
heartbroken. I remembered a vague warning that someone -- Pent, I think --   
had told Matthew about Guy. 'You don't really think that you can keep him,   
do you? You said yourself he was fierce as any beast roaming Sacae . . .   
wild creatures don't like cages. He's already throwing himself at the bars,   
and soon he'll manage to break something . . . either the cage, or himself.'

Matthew hadn't seemed happy about that, and at the time I hadn't quite  
gotten it . . . but now I could see clearly. After Leila's death, Guy was   
the one who'd kept him alive, constantly badgering and fighting him. Matthew   
had been flailing in his grief to find a reason to stay, something beyond   
duty . . . and Guy was there. While the Sacaean might not have known it, he   
had irreparably bound himself more securely to Matthew then any piece of paper   
could . . . and Matthew . . .  
  
Could I honestly say it was love in that face? Was the stirring emotions   
flickering across Matthew's face really the snapping apart of what bound   
them . . . or was it that of a broken heart? Was it both?  
  
The thief was still on the ground, looking at the spot where Guy had walked   
away. Drawing himself up from his elbows to his hands, he raised one to run   
his fingers through his hair. " . . . fierce as any wild creature, huh?"   
Matthew muttered to himself, gripping his head in one hand. " . . . yeah,   
well, he broke the cage all right . . . I waited too long . . . again, huh .   
. .."  
  
I picked myself up, and backing away slowly, realized that the only reason   
I'd remained undetected the entire time was because Matthew's senses weren't   
focused on much . . . besides Guy. Guy wasn't exactly a distraction anymore.   
  
Turning around, and fearing for some reason my sudden discovery, I ran.  
What had just happened? Exactly? Why had Guy DONE that? Surely he wasn't so   
doubtful of his abilities that he'd do something as stupid as that . . .   
even as a last resort . . . why was I bothering to deny it? I had just SEEN   
it happen! There could be no misunderstandings here, I'd seen the whole   
thing!  
  
. . . What had given Guy the idea to kiss Matthew to begin with? It was the   
most unexpected thing I could think of, and obviously Guy thought so too . .   
. but what on earth was the swordmaster doing even thinking about kissing   
the thief? While he'd used it as a distraction successfully, if Guy had held   
no feelings for Matthew at all, would he have gone through with it? Sacaens   
were raised to be truthful . . . to themselves, and to others. Guy had   
always had a hard time with the former. . .  
  
Matthew's feeling's towards Guy were obvious now . . . but Guy's   
enthusiastic carrying out of his 'distraction' . . . Was that any sign of   
returned feelings?  
  
I found myself at the camp, which was slightly surprising since I hadn't   
been paying any attention to my surroundings. Obviously my agitation was   
apparent. Lords Eliwood and Hector, polishing their weaponry and chatting,   
were casting concerned looks in my direction and even Sain, who was formerly   
busy stalking Rebecca, tried to help by shoving Lady Priscilla and I in a   
spare storage tent and blocking us in. (Luckily, Lady Priscilla knows I   
don't . . . exactly swing her way.) . . . But when Wil walked up to me for   
no reason and began spouting about baked ziti for no reason, I turned to him   
and said with a smile that while I appreciated his efforts to cheer me up, I   
just need a little bit of time to think.  
  
I added for him not to tell Raven.  
  
And Wil, of course, nodded respectfully, and turned around to tell the  
entire camp.  
  
The entire camp included, of course, Lord Raymond, and just as I was about   
to pound myself repeatedly onto a tree to relieve my pent up frustration --   
although Lord Raymond would have sufficed for that job as well -- I felt his   
familiar grip on my shoulder.  
  
"Hello, Lord Raymond." I smiled and turned to him. He never failed to cheer   
me up, unless he was being his stubborn self . . . but while that was pretty   
often, he made my insides jump every time.  
  
"Lucius . . ." Raven said slowly, tucking a piece of hair out of my eyes. I   
controlled the sharp intake of breath; I wanted to gasp as his   
sword-calloused fingertips gently brushed my ear. "I heard you weren't   
feeling well," he said softly, his auburn red eyes taking in my haggard   
appearance and wrinkled robes. I fought the urge to writhe under his   
critical eye, but being this close to him, writhing would just give me   
ideas.  
  
"Oh, I'm fine actually," I said hurriedly, and at his raised eyebrow I   
continued my explanation. "There's a problem I'm trying to fix . . .. and I   
don't know whether I'm playing matchmaker or if I'm just helping what's   
already there . . ."  
  
"Of course." He cut me off as my words grew more frantic. His expression,   
while it looked normal, had a softening around the eyes. "I understand . . .   
a bit too well."  
  
The last part was barely whispered, and I leaned forward even more to hear   
him. What on earth did he mean by that? ". . . What?" I aired my confusion   
in a vaguely dismayed tone.  
  
He snorted. "You," Raymond said softly, nudging my shoulder, "Only you would   
make yourself sick over something that's not your affair."  
  
Well, I hardly make myself sick, per se . . . I'm perfectly well. . . unless   
you count the time I caught the flu from Louise after trying to heal her of   
it. "What's that supposed to mean?" I said defensively, crossing my arms and  
trying my best to look annoyed at him. However, my attempt at a fierce glare   
obviously ranged from 'pathetic' to 'lost puppy,' and he gave a small smile   
of amusement.  
  
"It means you're too kind for your own good, Lucius . . ." he said softly,   
leaning closer to me. I felt a familiar heat race across my cheeks as his   
forehead bumped mine, " . . . and you're . . ." he paused, struggling for   
words, trying to say something, ". . . well . . ."

Well, what? What was milord doing, exactly? That heat pooling in my   
belly was feeding my mind a few unwelcome images . . . scratch that.   
They were VERY welcome . . . just, overly so.  
  
A blue pattern caught the corner of my eye, and I whirled my head away from   
Lord Raymond's, almost grateful of the distraction. "Oh!" I watched,   
relieved that my concentration on those . . . thoughts was disrupted, as Guy   
strode past us curtly. Talking to Lord Raven was real quite distracting,   
even if it was in a good way. . . I had to confront Guy about his less then   
honorable behavior.  
  
I turned to Raven hurriedly. "I'm truly sorry -- I have to go, but this is   
important." He looked at me blankly, with a mildly angry tilt to his eyes,  
but I knew him long enough to know that it just meant he was hiding   
something. I'd figure it out later . . . but I had to hurry to catch the   
swordmaster before I lost him. "Really, it is," I said softly with a smile.  
  
Raymond sighed, and shrugged. "I am scarcely your lord, and certainly not   
your master." I opened my mouth to protest his self-degradation, but he   
caught it and silenced me with a swift gesture. "Go."  
  
I went, thanking Elimine with a thousand blessings that my legs actually  
worked after that little encounter. I had to swerve around a few tents to   
avoid General Wallace's rants and skirted around Karel for no other reason   
than that he was smiling. Karel, smiling . . . either it was french toast --   
and Lowen wasn't cooking, so that was wrong -- or blood. I don't think Karel   
is safe when he thinks about blood. . .  
  
I still kept Guy in sight ahead of me, and he was walking in a slow manner,   
not his usual cocky swagger. As I stalked towards him in atypically long   
strides, I wondered furiously why he looked depressed; after all, he'd   
gotten what he'd wanted, right? Right?  
  
I grabbed his arm in the most violent gesture I 'd made in years, and  
forcefully spun him around. He looked vaguely shocked at my facial   
expression -- I'm fairly certain it wasn't pretty -- and opened his mouth to   
say something. I wasn't about to even let him try to say whatever he was   
going to say.  
  
"Guy," I muttered, trying not to sound as angry as I probably looked, "WHAT   
was THAT?" Spitting, I jabbed a finger in the direction of the clearing that   
. . . that . . . that monstrous parody of a fight had taken place.  
  
Guy followed my finger slowly, and winced, looking almost sheepish. Sheepish   
is NOT how he is supposed to be feeling! He's supposed to be. . .   
disgraced, or mortified with himself! I was only slightly shocked when Guy   
only said, "You saw?"  
  
I gritted my teeth, and clenched my fists in my effort to calm down, because  
I was, for lack of a better word to use, PISSED. I was forgiving, I was   
gentle normally, of course, but this was ticking me off. It wasn't as bad as   
how I'd felt when I'd told Raven off loudly about his grudge against Ostia,   
but it was . . .. close. Horribly close.  
  
"Guy," I pleaded cautiously, "That was . . . low. That was very," I paused   
to stress the words, "very low."  
  
He blinked at me, and something flickered in his eyes. I barely heard his   
faint, "I know . . ."  
  
I ignored whatever his miserable tone might have, under different   
circumstances, implied. "You don't DO things like that!" I exploded. "You  
can't just . . . take him and toss him away! You used him! You took   
deliberate advantage of him --"  
  
Guy whirled on me, eyes flashing in defiance. "Like he took advantage of a   
starving man?" he snarled. "Like he took advantage of me?"  
  
"So you admit to stooping to his level?"  
  
"It was your idea!" Guy's braid thrashed as he grabbed his head and in both   
hands and shook it confusedly. "I-It was your idea!"  
  
My idea? What? My . . . my inane advice had actually encouraged Guy to go   
and do that . . that . . . that thing he just did? Had it? Was it really my   
fault? Had I . . . No! Impossible! I never hurt allies, or friends! Heck, I   
apologized after ripping my spells on ENEMIES!  
  
"Me? Mine?!" I almost shrieked -- almost. "I . . . I spouted nonsensical   
proverbs and general advice that'd work just as well on any other problem!"   
My hands sliced the air in a vehement gesture.  
  
Guy opened his mouth, and then paused, mentally reviewing exactly what I had   
told him earlier that day. He gaped slightly, before scowling at me with a   
bitter and almost accusing expression, and still gripping the paper in his   
fist angrily, and tightly walking away. I followed.  
  
"Guy," I hesitated, letting my voice fall into pleading, "Answer me this, at   
least."  
  
"What?" The voice was . . . apprehensive?  
  
I reminded myself to slap my face next time I got a chance alone. "Did you   
enjoy it?" I asked quickly, my face turning a not-so-subtle shade of pink.  
  
"WHAT?!" Guy yelped, practically falling over, his eyes widening slightly as   
he took a step back. He blinked twice, looking totally caught off guard, and   
then he recovered scowling. "He annoys me eternally, he's c-close to   
impossible to tent with, he's loud and rude and makes for r-really bad   
conversation!" he spat hurriedly. "H-How can you ask that?!"  
  
Guy only stuttered when nervous . . . or losing. "How come you didn't   
answer the question. . . ?" I asked softly, a small smile growing on my   
face. I know when people lie, it's a thing that comes with white magic. .   
. no matter what Guy says, I'll know.  
  
He's cornered, and from the fidgeting with his braid, I'd say he knew it. I   
watched as his finger toyed with the end of the plait, muttering dourly.   
"Yeah, I . . ." he choked. "I liked it a bit . . . not really . . . sorta .   
. . kinda. . . " He winced, and then glared at me, tossing his braid back   
behind him harshly, and pointed an accusatory finger. "Ok, yes! Fine!" He   
spat at more himself then me. "I liked it! I liked it alot! But . . . but   
I'm never thinking of it again!"  
  
"Thinking of what?" I asked innocently.  
  
Guy's eyes flashed. "Of him laying me down, putting his hands on me, doing  
sick, twisted, perverted things to me until I die of . . . of . . ." I was   
regretting asking him at this point, but luckily he noticed his train of   
thought and stomped his foot impatiently. "Damn you, you're making me do it   
again!"  
  
"You don't seem unwilling." Politely, I observed his reaction to that.  
He blinked at me, opening his mouth several times, before closing it and   
opening it again, trying to say something in retaliation. His eyes narrowed.   
"I'm leaving," he said, growling, turning to walk away for good.  
  
"Very well." I turned away as well. "I'll be seeing you."  
  
" . . . "  
  
There was no reply from Guy. I let him walk away . . . this time.  
  
I let out a long, slow breath. I had lost my temper . . . and it was very   
hard to make me do that. I guess the idea of playing with someone's heart .   
. . I winced. It seemed that Matthew had sincerely liked Guy, and that   
everyone knew it but me. Yet . . . I had always prided myself on reading   
people's hearts . . . I suppose those two had too many walls up.  
  
I compared them in passing to Lord Raymond and I. They were attracted to   
each other, even if they refused to admit it, and were extremely physical   
people. While Guy's fiery disposition, exotic looks, and passion was no   
doubt what attracted Matthew to him, and the thief's roguish charm and   
charisma was what attracted Guy. Raven and I . . . were exact opposites of  
that. Raven was generally sulky and distempered, and I spent more time a day   
with my hairbrush then I did talking to him. And I . . . what did I have   
that Raymond could possibly want? And besides, my feelings for him were   
hardly mutual.  
  
That was not a comforting thought . . . "Wow, you look depressed!"  
  
I whirled around, and saw Serra grinning at me. It was her squeaking voice   
that had interrupted my thoughts . . .  
  
I lifted my hand in a vague gesture of greeting. "Oh . . . hello Serra. I .   
. ." Swallowing, I attempted to fib my way past Serra's clever eyes . . .   
she sees everything that she isn't supposed to see, and if any of this mess   
got to her ears, she'd tell the whole camp by sundown. Worse then Wil   
sometimes. . .. Wil, at least, has a minor sense of tact. Minor. ". . . I am   
merely tired, that's all." I nodded benignly.  
  
She snorted inelegantly, and prodded me hard with her staff. "You are the   
worst liar I've ever seen, and lemme tell you, Erk's pretty bad." She   
squinted up at me, advancing with a concentrating and almost pouty look.   
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
I stepped back. "Well . . ." I thought quickly, and pulled out my still   
stuck jewelry box. . . I can't lie, so . . . "I can't get this open, and I   
fear I don't have the nerves to approach either of our resident thieves   
about it." Indeed, this was true. My horribly honest face would hide nothing   
from Matthew, and Legault was fairly perverted and. . . and, well,   
perverted.  
  
Serra looked at it with a critical eye, and reaching into one of her   
pigtails, pulled a hairpin out. Prying it open with her teeth, she snatched   
my box away -- I blinked -- and she began picking at it. "I learned this,"   
she muttered distractedly, "back in the convent . . . the nuns kept trying   
to take my berserk staff . . . they said it was . . ." she grunted in   
concentration, "unholy . . .. Hey, I got it!"  
  
She grinned triumphantly, and I couldn't help but gape as she held up my --   
opened -- box.  
  
"Serra," I said calmly, taking the box back gingerly, closing it and opening   
it again with ease, "If I could honestly say I love you, I would. But I   
don't."  
  
"At least not that way," Serra agreed cheerily. "Now, tell me what's REALLY   
going on! And I want the juicy details!"  
  
I shook my head. "I am sworn to secrecy . . . due to my vows not to hurt   
others. It won't help those two if this is revealed . . .." Most certainly   
not . . . because half the camp would either try to play matchmaker or   
victimize one or the other for their actions . . . or both.  
  
"Hey! I'm a healer too, you know." I looked back up at her, and to my   
surprise, she didn't have that idiot grin on her face anymore. "I'm not THAT   
bad at keeping secrets. I know a few that'd make your hair curl . . ." okay,   
the grin was back, ". . . but I won't get into that." she finished, giving   
me a hopeful look as if to prove her trustworthiness to me.  
  
Now that you mention it, though, while she was very talkative, Serra rarely  
actually gossiped. . . she might have a point, and frowning, I asked in a   
hesitant and doubtful voice, "You swear to keep all --"  
  
"I swear on my vows!" she promised. That wasn't exactly encouraging, but I   
needed to tell SOMEONE about it all . . .  
  
So I explained. Serra wasn't the best person to trust, I know, but she swore   
on her vows and even Serra keeps to those. . . I explained the whole thing,   
from the need to see Matthew, to the fight, to the kiss, the very last   
discussion with Guy. Serra didn't interrupt once, until I got to mentioning   
that Guy had admitted to liking the kiss.  
  
"Wait . . ." she giggled lightly. "So, Guy is macking on Matthew?"  
  
Interesting phrasing . . . "Erm . . ." Well, though put quite crudely . . .   
  
"Yes. But since he was only using the kiss as a . . . distraction . . . "  
  
"Oooh!" She nodded, before her eyes lit up. "Oh! OH, Ooooooh! So THAT'S why   
Guy was . . .!" Serra's eyes widened enormously, and her lips formed a small   
o as she covered her mouth with one hand, struggling with something.  
  
I blinked at her, and felt a small bit of apprehension gnaw at my intestines.   
  
"What?"  
  
"He rushed by here a while ago!" Serra rattled. "He said he was looking for   
Matthew --" I frowned as she bubbled the words. Why was Guy looking for   
Matthew . . ? She went on, oblivious to my disconcerted look. "-- and I said   
I hadn't seen him all day, and he was all pale and then he ran off. . ."  
  
Oh, no. "Where to?" I demanded.  
  
"The woods!"  
  
Crap. What was he doing? I wasn't sure the need, but I was compelled by   
something to follow, that something would happen if I wasn't there. Serra   
shrieked after my running form, and I called back, "Don't follow me!"  
  
So, of course, Serra followed, all the way down the wooded path. I panted  
lightly for breath, and covered Serra's mouth as we approached the clearing.

Matthew was in the same spot I had left him . . . scratch that, he was a few   
feet from the spot. The grass was worn down in a circle, as though recently   
tramped down by nervous pacing, and although the thief was sprawled against a   
birch tree and lazily toying with something, I could tell he was nowhere   
near as relaxed as he was trying to look. Guy didn't seem to be relaxed at   
all.  
  
I don't know how long Guy had been standing there, but he was standing,   
rigid and tense, in front of the thief. Matthew was fiddling with his   
dagger, cleaning his nails, dipping it into the air. . . generally   
looking bored and ignoring Guy completely. I winced . . . that wasn't a very   
good sign at all.  
  
Serra looked over at me curiously, but I ignored her, intent and serious on   
the somewhat distant scene. I only had to stay long enough to see Guy's   
intentions, and then I could leave. . . if he was apologizing (that was   
likely) . . . but if he was going to do something else . . I paused,   
frowning. What else could there be?  
  
"Well, Guy," the sharp, clipped and monotonous voice cut through the thick   
air like a knife. I winced again . . . that wasn't a good sign either.   
  
Matthew look as blank as his voice sounded, and he regarded Guy coolly with   
piercing eyes. "Is there something you need?"  
  
"No . . ." Guy said slowly, his forehead wrinkled slightly from his furrowed  
brows as he flinched back in worry. Worry . . . about what? "I . . ." Guy   
started, but his voice cracked and he cleared it to start again. "I came to .   
. . to return this . . . rightfully, it's still yours . . .." The last part   
sounded almost puppy-eager.  
  
"You won it." The thief replied flatly. "Unfairly, maybe, but nothing more  
then I might have done."  
  
The braided swordsman's voice cracked again as he spoke, but this time,   
he did nothing to fix it."Look . . . I . . . I'm sorry, OK!? I feel guilty as hell for   
what I did, and I . . . I . . " Guy was madly fidgeting with his braid now.  
  
"You should feel guilty," Matthew looked down at his knife, and sheathed it   
deftly before vaulting up, and he looked at Guy searchingly. The swordsman   
grew even more tense as Matthew circled him slowly, speaking, ". . . yet you   
obviously didn't think you'd feel this way before you tried that," he said   
slowly, not quite as biting as before, but with a smooth lilt to his tone.   
  
He put his mouth very close to Guy's ear, and the fidgeting abruptly stopped   
as Matthew hissed in his ear, "Did you?"  
  
The Sacaen's answer was strangled. ". . . No."  
  
"Why?" The voice was curt again, and with a shove on one shoulder and a pull   
on the other, Matthew spun Guy around abruptly.  
  
Guy's chest rose with his indrawn breath, and he looked squarely in the eyes   
of the thief. "I didn't know . . . I didn't think you'd kiss back. But . . ." The blue  
eyes were steady. "You did."

I sucked in a breath How much had it taken for Guy to admit that? He was   
admirably brave. What would -- what could -- Matthew say to that?  
  
"Yes." The tone was hard once more. "I did." Matthew narrowed his eyes,   
and turned away, walking deliberately in the other direction.  
  
Oh, no . . . was Guy going to let Matthew walk away? I felt Serra trying to   
inch towards the pair, and I grabbed her wrist, and spoke in a low, almost   
inaudible tone. "No, Serra!" I hissed. "We can't watch this, it's wrong!"  
  
"Oh, poopy!" Serra scolded back. "Give it a rest, we're just . . ." she   
fished for words as the argument behind us escalated, " . . . we're damage   
control, unless they try to kill each other!"  
  
She had a point . . . at this rate, Matthew would be ramming his knife down   
Guy's throat any second, and since the people of Sacae didn't generally take   
things without a fight . . . it might get rather messy in the clearing. The   
disemboweled, decapitated kind of messy. Put like that, Serra and I -- sworn   
healers -- didn't have a choice in the matter.  
  
I winced. Not again . . . I was beginning to make a bad habit of   
eavesdropping. . . Serra crept closer to them, and in my desire not to be  
left behind, I followed. Putting my hand on her lips, I shook my head. This   
close, there could be no more whispered comments. She grinned at her   
victory, but was silent and turned back to watch.  
  
"Matthew!" Guy had just flung out his arm, his eyes wide, his braid trailing   
wildly behind him as he jerked himself in front of the now retreating thief.   
  
We'd obviously missed something. Matthew stepped back slightly, putting more   
space between them as Guy practically shouted his words, "Please!"  
The braid trembled violently as Guy shook his head. "Please! In the name of   
my honor as a Sacaean. In the honor of your gods, St. Elimine, and all of   
mine combined . . .. In the right of my sword I'll give you my every . . ."   
Guy's eyes widened, as if he'd said something horrible or taboo,   
"everything." he finished softly, looking down painfully.  
  
Silence fell, the pregnant pause deepening as Guy was obviously struggling   
not to bolt; his hands were clenched, and his tense muscles trembled   
slightly in his effort to stand his ground. Matthew looked down at Guy and I   
couldn't see his face as he stepped up to the Sacaen, putting them chest to   
chest, inclining his face to look down at the other's. His height forced the   
shorter swordsman to look up, stricken, as Matthew began to speak softly.  
  
"I seem to remember those words from somewhere before," he whispered,   
forcing both Serra and I to crane our necks to hear. "Two years ago, when I --  
what were your words, Guy? --" he tilted his head sharply, with a cold   
smile forming on his face, "Ah . . . right . . . 'took advantage of a   
starving man. . .'."  
  
Guy and I both winced. Guy had mentioned that to me . . . Matthew'd heard   
that conversation? Guy gulped . . . Not surprising, since Guy had admitted   
to liking the 'attention' that he'd given the thief . . . in . . . oh . . .   
oh, my . . . Guy's eyes squinted shut, as if the memory of that caused him   
physical pain. Matthew scowled at this, and grabbed Guys chin to forcibly   
lift it, pounding in his words with a harsh voice. "Look. At. Me."  
  
One exotically tilted blue eye opened slowly, then the other, Guy blinking   
almost owlishly up at his chin's captor. Matthew stared intensely back, and   
I was struck with a sense of deja vu as Guy met it evenly. This stare was   
the same as the intense one before, but something was . . . different, more   
feral, more . . . more base.  
  
"It seems," Matthew purred throatily, "that taking advantage of you is going  
to become a . . . new habit of mine."  
  
Matthew's other hand lifted slowly, trailing up Guy's ribs as the swordmaster   
gave a visible shudder. The hand grasping the chin slid down to   
the shoulders gently, both hands holding Guy firmly enough to show that he   
wanted him to stay, but loosely enough that if he felt like it, the Sacaean   
could have easily broken off. The eyes were wider, and the breathing was   
heavier, but there was no sign of refusal.  
  
That was all the answer the thief needed -- and with an audible crack,   
Matthew slammed Guy almost violently against a nearby oak, the swift and   
fluid motion of the move making it seamless.  
  
Was Matthew . . . ATTACKING Guy? I almost jerked up, but Serra --   
pathetically enough, she could actually subdue me -- covered my mouth with   
her hand and flung her arm around me, using her weight against my weak   
strength to keep me down. I widened my eyes at her, and she scowled, before   
jabbing her fingers in the direction of the two we had been watching.  
  
I blinked. Well, Matthew did indeed have Guy pinned to the tree . . . but   
Guy certainly didn't seem to mind. . .considering that they were sucking   
very enthusiastically at each other's faces. Matthew whispered something,   
and yanked off Guy's headband with his teeth. I wondered for a moment why he   
was binding Guy's wrists when they so obviously . . . erm . . . getting   
along. . . so very, very well. . .. Guy blinked as his forearms were   
attached to the branch above him, leaving him almost helpless.  
  
Matthew assaulted Guy's neck with his mouth, and Guy writhed against his   
bindings, his eyes widening open and his head tossing back, leaning into the   
tree with a long, rattling breath . . . what was he . . .  
  
I cut off my own question, deciding that I didn't want to know, and neither   
should Serra. I covered her eyes, and trying not to look back, I began to  
drag her off back in the direction of the camp, hoping that Guy and Matthew   
were occupied enough to pay no attention the scuffling sounds the leaves   
were making. I was correct, and Serra, fortunately, didn't put up a fight.  
  
As soon as we were a fair distance away, I let her mouth go, and Serra   
giggled slightly. "Aw, how cute!" She looked up at me with a bright glimmer   
in her eye. "Those two are simply adorable, ne?"  
  
I didn't quite think that 'adorable' was an apt description of what had just   
happened, but I nodded blithely in agreement anyway and took out my charm   
box, beginning to attach my saint charms on my hip. St. Jude . . . St. Helen   
. . . trying desperately to think of anything but Matthew and Guy . . . not   
to mention the not-so-subtle sounds coming from behind us. . .  
  
Serra began to giggle again, and I looked over at her petulantly. "This   
isn't a laughing matter, Serra."  
  
"Sure it is!" she chortled. "Cuz even though you and I are pretty much sworn   
to secrecy, whoever's coming towards us --" Her pointing hand, gesturing the  
path before us, didn't waver at my look of horror -- "is gonna know! Oooh, I   
hope it's not Florina . . . she'd be traumi -- "  
  
"WHAT?!" I shrieked, before remembering that screaming wasn't the best thing   
to be doing at the moment. I looked wildly at Serra. "I can't be seen  
anywhere near here!"  
  
"Why not?" Serra shrugged.  
  
Well, let's see . . . I had a reputation as a pure, wonderful little monk   
who did nothing wrong and was a decent little magic-user who couldn't harm a   
fly without a spell book and was oh-so-understanding of everyone's problems,   
and had the cleanest and most innocent disposition. I LIKED this reputation,   
because it was, in fact, true. With the obvious background noise (which I   
was doing my best at the time to ignore) and my disheveled appearance, I   
would look like a lowly peeping tom.  
  
"I can't be seen as a . . a . . . voyeur!" I moaned, hopping nervously on   
one foot to the other. "I . . . I really, really don't want to be here!" My   
pitch raised surprisingly high at the end of that sentence. I turned to the   
cleric, pleading for help. She thought for a second, before turning sharply   
towards me.  
  
Serra didn't bother with warning me; she jump tackled me, sending us both   
into the thick --and thankfully thorn-free -- brush on the sides of the   
path. I struggled a moment, before Serra slapped me and jabbed her finger   
above us. The greenery had closed above me, concealing both of us from view.  
  
She shook her head disgustedly, and we sat in silence. I could now hear the   
footsteps of the stranger, faltering once when the . . . sound effects   
reached his ears. It was a he, I could tell; the heavy steps were steady and   
purposeful.  
  
They came closer . . . and closer . . . and as they began to pass us by, I   
sighed lightly in relief and leaned back. . .. a mistake.  
  
My amulets! They were around my waist again -- it was a mistake to reattach   
them so soon! -- and the movement had goaded them into making a racket of   
jingling and metallic scrapes. I tried to quiet them, but my motions   
disturbed them more. Serra made a muffled hiss to be quiet and pressed her   
hand down on them to stop their noise. I frantically added my attempt to   
hers, and they were ineffectively silenced.  
  
And then my eyes met with a familiar pair of boots. And I looked up, into a pair   
of very familiar eyes. Very, very familiar, ruby eyes.  
  
Lord Raven blinked down at me in some sort of shock, and I blinked back in   
the same state.  
  
I realized then just how things looked. Serra was half sprawled on top of me,   
her hands still on my hips from her vain attempt to silence my jewelry, and   
her hair was undone on one side because of the hairpin she'd taken out to   
lock-pick my jewelry box. The bright blushes on both her face and mine, along   
with the enthusiastic noises Matthew and Guy were making, and the awkward   
position . . .  
  
This wasn't happening to me. It was all a big nightmare . . . the last   
person in the world I'd want to see me like this . . . for more than one   
reason! I was madly in love with Lord Raymond; and here he was thinking I   
was . . . doing . . . THAT with Serra.  
  
"Um . . . milor -- I mean, Raven . . ." I said shakily. I knew I couldn't   
reveal Lord Raymond's identity in front of Serra -- one of Lord Hector's   
retainers -- but my urge to call him 'milord' and to reassert my undying   
loyalty to him was rearing up, and I feared that Serra might have caught the   
slip. Then again, her embarrassment might hopefully slow her thinking   
processes a bit, for all that it was making me think a mile a minute.  
  
I don't think I'll ever forget the look on his face. The closest comparison   
I could ever make was the expression on Matthew's face when Guy had walked   
away from him that morning, but . . . this seemed so much sharper, so much   
more acute for the simple reason that it was my Lord Raymond making it, and   
it was directed at me. Shock, betrayal? Pain and a sharp twist of something   
else . . . I didn't bother trying to decipher it. . . I looked away in   
shame.  
  
"This isn't what it looks like," I muttered. I couldn't bring myself to look   
at him for a good few seconds . . . but when I brought my head back up, he   
wasn't looking at me anymore.  
  
He was staring at Serra with an amount of focus that he rarely showed --   
unless in battle.  
  
I had a few new doubts about the cleric's lifespan . . .  
  
I felt Serra jerk away from me as if burned. "I'll say!" she squeaked,   
hustling to her feet to loudly crunching dead leaves. I heard Serra swallow,   
and I winced as I realized that Raven was laying one of his infamous glares   
on her. After a bit of more leaf crunching -- Serra was shuffling her feet   
liberally under his gaze -- she began to babble . . . as she was often wont   
to do.  
  
"Er, looky here, Raven . . . um, sir . . ." she started almost breathlessly,   
her voice more chatty then normal, "that was sooo NOT what you think it   
was. Lucius was just . . .all worried about stupid stuff and we accidentally   
ended up too near those two," she jerked her thumb at the noises that were   
still wafting through the trees, "and then we heard someone -- you,   
actually, but we didn't know that -- and he didn't want to be seen as a   
voyeur -- even though he kinda sorta was, and so I dragged him to hide in   
the bushes, and then you popped up and . . . and . . ." her words   
floundered, and I steeled myself enough for a glance at Raymond.  
  
He looked strangely relieved, and calmer . . . and he was glancing at me. I   
squeaked, and ducked my head back down.  
  
I shook my head, and looked back up, still blushing. Serra frowned at the   
earth loam near her feet for a moment, before grinning back up at Raven.   
  
"Besides, I like Erky too much to fool around with YOUR femmy monk!" The   
emphasis on 'your' was unmistakable, as the excruciatingly obvious wink.   
Then again, everything Serra did was excruciatingly obvious . . .  
  
As it was, I was probably glowing enough to save on torches. I hardly   
counted myself fortunate enough to be counted as exclusively Raymond's. I   
mean, with his looks . . . he might be slightly high-maintenance, what with   
his fixations on vengeance and possessiveness with anything that MIGHT be   
given the title 'his'. . . but he was protecting, and had a gentle touch and   
kind heart. While anyone who didn't know him . . . well, I DID know him, so   
there! The point was, Raven was untouchable.  
  
I blinked up at Raven, still looking disheveled, waiting for his reaction to   
that.  
  
A small surge of hope settled warmly in my throat. Was that a . . . a blush?   
Was my impenetrable, unstoppable, untouchable Lord Raymond . . . blushing?   
  
"Fine. . . " I heard him mutter indistinctly . . . and he turned and walked   
away.  
  
. . . That was IT? No jealous rant, no bout of over-protectiveness for his   
last family? I felt . . . almost disappointed. . . but, he didn't deny   
Serra's word's. . .  
  
She, unlike me, didn't miss a beat, and Serra grinned at his retreating  
back. "Wow . . . he's got it bad . . ."  
  
"Milord Ra -- I mean, Raven's got what bad?" I demanded, like a petulant   
child.  
  
Looking over at me, she shook her head and began walking towards the camp. I   
trotted behind her, trying to keep up with her fast clipped walk. "You know,   
Lucius," she drawled, "what's with you calling Raven 'milord' all the time?"   
She glanced back at me, having frozen at her words. "You'd think something   
was up, ne?" she said softly.  
  
I looked at her mischievous glint, her cocky gestures, and tried to swallow   
-- but found that my throat and mouth were dry. Had she figured it out? Had   
I slipped one time too many? Had I managed to reveal everything, and ruin   
what Raven had worked so hard to keep up? I found myself dashing in front of   
her, stumbling backwards as she kept walking. I trotted beside her,   
frantically gesturing.  
  
"No no no no!" I shook my head wildly, and Serra quickened her pace. I began   
to babble, "You see, it's just . . . well, we grew up together, you see, and   
I was older then him, so . . . it was quite funny that I had to call him   
'milord' and . . . I mean, I didn't exactly HAVE to call him milord, but I   
did anyway and you see it's really nothing you should read too deeply into,   
you see . . . and . . . and . . ." I panted, almost out of breath.  
  
She gave me a strange look, and my tactics changed drastically " . . . and   
please, PLEASE don't tell anyone, Serra," I practically sobbed.  
  
Serra tutted, and after few tense seconds of my stumbling over stocks and   
rocks, patted me awkwardly on the head. "That's okay, Lucius!"  
  
I looked up. "Really?"  
  
She grinned brightly, with a wink I dared to call . . . 'roguish'. "You   
guys' fetishes are my best kept secret!"  
  
The near-noon sun in my eyes distracted me for a moment, before the full   
connotations of her words hit me like a brick. I whirled at her, eyes wide.   
  
"F-FETISHES?!" I shrieked, looking at her wildly, as though she were insane .   
. . and with Serra, insanity is indeed an option. Then I realized we had   
reached our destination and it was not exactly safe to speak so . . .  
freely, put mildly.  
  
Luckily, we were only at the edge of camp, not in it, and although Lady Lyn   
and Rath, who were speaking quietly, glanced up to look at us strangely, we   
were for the most part ignored. Serra makes people say strange things fairly   
often, what can I say? She once made Karel say that her hair was 'spiffy.'  
  
Serra just lifted her chin smugly and frolicked off. I guessed that, all   
things considered, I'd gotten off easy, sans my pride and whatever illusion   
of dignity I'd managed to keep throughout the morning.

. . . Morning?  
  
Oh . . . my god. It was still only late morning.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Heh . . . I'm so evil to poor Lucius. It's only cuz I love him, I swear.

Eh, well, you know the drill. Save a tree, eat a beaver. Save an author, write a review.


	2. Part Two: Afternoon

What's that? . . . Oh, hell no. If I owned Rekka no Ken, Raven'd slice up   
Renault at the end and Eliwood would prance more. Because . . . I can see   
Eliwood prancing.   
  
Rated for some seriously narky stuff. No, I ain't kiddin ya, there is some messed   
up crap all up in here. I mean, what with all the KISSING and people saying   
horrible BAD WORDS . . . what will all your parents say, if they see you reading   
this? Tsk, tsk . . .  
  
R Amythest has once more come through! (Sorry I didn't change the cliche   
part, but I'd hafta change most the chapter and that'd take too long.) Love the  
beta, people! Sorry it took so long! But, between kicking Renault with Scarabsi   
hates Renault and rejoicing over the last day of school (not to mention panicking  
from the exams), writing slowly dropped down my priority list. But now I'm back.  
Heh. (PS: I know nothing about horses. I BSed my way through most the parts  
involving equines of any sort. Go me.)  
  
----------------------------start fic-----------------------------  
  
I lifted my head. I could smell cooking from the center of the cluster of tents,  
the smell only reaching me because of a shift in the wind. I frowned. Perhaps  
it was later in the morning then I thought if the noon meal was already getting  
started. I sighed. Well, you couldn't truly blame me for losing track of time.   
I'd been busy, in an odd sense of the word, and my mind wasn't on that sort   
of thing.  
  
The entire camp -- even those lazy ones who took to opportunity to sleep   
in -- was awake now, and the various squabbles that everyone seemed to   
enjoy so much were in full force. Isadora was fending off Sain with little luck,   
and Harken was glaring at the green-armored cavalier intensely before Kent   
came along and dragged Sain off to help him with something.  
  
Lord Hector and Lady Lyn were bickering behind me, heading in the same  
direction that I was. Lord Eliwood was there, too, giving them pacifying and  
nervous smiles in his effort to calm them down. The tactician swooshed by as  
well, his/her cloak (I never could figure their gender out) trailing behind as he/she  
shouted at Dart for something he'd done in the last battle.  
  
The center of the camp -- the unofficial kitchen and meeting ground -- was  
mostly full, with a fairly long line to Lowen's cooking. I admit, Lowen was a   
good cook, and by far the best of the rest of us. It's understandable that   
Lowen ended up cooking for the whole camp.  
  
As I made my way to the end of the queue, I passed by our pegasus knights.  
"Good afternoon, ladies." I smiled at the three sisters, and although Fiora and  
Farina returned the greeting, Florina looked around bashfully before giving a   
tiny wave. I smiled gently at her; her fear of men was understandable, and it   
seemed to be spread to every male in the camp . . . except me. I suppose that  
my girlish looks -- while extremely annoying -- can come in handy after all.   
Although, it makes me wonder if Florina even knows I'm a man at all. That disturbs   
me slightly, but I'm willing to swallow my pride for a greater good.  
  
"It's good to see you again, Florina," I gave her a calming smile. "How's your  
riding been? You haven't taken anymore falls, I hope?"  
  
"J-just once . . ." She admitted shyly, tinkering with the clips she used to keep   
her hair back. "I had to use a vulnerary, since both you and Serra weren't there . . ."   
She hesitated, and nudged slightly closer. "I-I think Canas was there, but . . .   
I hope he wasn't offended by my not calling him . . ."  
  
The slight tremble in her voice was enough to make me want to wince. I leaned   
forward to whisper -- it was only an illusion of privacy, really, since the only people  
around were her sisters and Florina would tell them everything once I was gone   
anyway -- and asked softly, "Do you want me to go make sure? I'll be very   
discreet, of course."  
  
She shook her head. "No . . . no, that's fine . . . I . . . " She froze.  
  
I paused. "Florina? Are you well? I haven't said anything wrong, have I?"  
  
"N-No . . ." She bit her lip, her hands reaching up to clasp by her neck.   
Strangely enough, she seemed to being looking not at me, but over my   
shoulder. "No, I, um . . . I'm, um, going over there now . . ." And with that,   
Florina scurried behind her two sisters, gripping Farina's arm and peeking in my  
direction over Fiora's shoulder. I blinked. Odd.  
  
I tuerned to walk back, but hit a large, blue clothed wall. It was rather warm, and   
smelled an awful lot like Lord Raymond . . . I blinked, and glanced up. It WAS   
Lord Raymond. Standing directly behind me and glaring enough for him, Jaffar,  
and Lord Hector combined . . .no wonder Florina had run; milord was enough   
to scare away those of stronger hearts.  
  
He arched an eyebrow at me, and I noticed then our very close proximity. Not  
showing the reluctance I was feeling, I gave a quick half-leap backwards,   
muttering an apology for running into him . . . and praying to Elimine for her   
forgiveness for that lie, since I actually wasn't very sorry at all.  
  
Raven looked at me almost apprehensively, and walked away. Just like that.  
  
I blinked.  
  
What?  
  
Well, that was strange. Raymond was usually content to skulk about in the   
background, why was he walking around in the open for no reason? I cupped   
my elbow with one hand and tapped my jaw with the other.

More and more curious, according to Canas. I wasn't exactly watching where   
I was going during this thought process; I'd bumped into -- surprise -- Rebecca.   
  
"Lucius, sorry!" She smiled cheerfully. "What's new with you?"  
  
"With me, nothing much," I admitted. All of my problems weren't really my own,   
granted, just other's issues that my accursed luck got me involved in. "But I'll be  
grateful for the chance to sit down and eat; I didn't have breakfast." Shaking my   
head, I gave her a sheepish look.  
  
I should mention, it was hard not to like Rebecca, despite the possible feelings   
Raven might harbor for her. She winced, and jerked a thumb over her shoulder.   
"Well, you're not in much luck. Bartre decided he'd like to learn how to cook, and   
Lowen didn't really have a choice in the matter . . ." her voice trailed off just in time   
for me to hear the bushy-haired cavalier yelling at the aforementioned axe-man.  
  
Bartre. Cooking. I felt my stomach, which was previously twisting in mild hunger,  
now twisting in minor revulsion. "That," I said in a flat sort of voice, "doesn't   
sound good at all. Should I ask Lady Louise for part of her meal?" This was a   
reference to the fact that Lord Pent and Lady Louise always shared a private   
meal over their personal fire. Erk occasionally joined them, but at this point the   
young mage was beginning to head into the 'authority-doesn't-apply-to-me' frame  
of mind.  
  
He was that age, I'm afraid.  
  
"No, don't bother," Rebecca admitted. "I think Lowen's managed pretty well,   
from what I can smell, but . . ." Her shrug was suddenly tense, and she wasn't  
looking quite at me, but behind me. I blinked; well, this was deja vu. She hurriedly  
finished her sentence. ". . . but it should be okay! Erm . . . see you later . . ?"   
Rebecca gave a half-hearted yet quirky wave, backed away slowly, and then   
skipped off at an exaggerated speed.  
  
I picked up my meal with a confused air. What was that about?  
  
"Lucius, you don't look very well," Erk noted as I went to join the rest of the  
magic-users for the meal. The group was lacking a few members -- namely,   
Priscilla, Serra, and Nino -- but Priscilla and Serra were probably off doing girl  
things and Nino was probably hanging off of Jaffar. I gave a fairly blank smile   
as a reply, and Erk shrugged and turned back to his books.  
  
I sat down, and prodded the contents of the bowl -- a strange pasta -- a few  
times before tasting it. Once again, with or without Bartre's 'assistance,' Lowen   
had done an excellent job with the meal. I dipped in my fork and tried to daintily  
twist the noodles, but they weren't quite long enough and I ended up half-shoveling  
it into my mouth like everyone else. We ate in companionable silence until Canas  
looked up at me sharply. "Tell me, Lucius."  
  
I glanced up, and rubbed the side of my mouth to make sure it was clean before  
answering. "Yes, Canas?"  
  
He hesitated and adjusted his monocle -- did he really need it? He was really   
fairly young --before continuing. "Is there . . ." He queried slowly, "Some reason  
that Raven's been . . . ah," He look mildly perturbed as he frowned. "How shall   
I put this . . ."  
  
"Stalking you?" Erk suggested wryly. I looked at him blankly, then back at   
Canas as he nodded approvingly at Erk. "Ah, yes. Bluntly put, but that was the   
point I was trying to make." Canas turned back to me amiably. "Yes. Is there a   
reason that Raven is, shall we say, 'stalking' you?"  
  
My blank stare obviously spoke volumes more then any words that might have   
popped out of my mouth, but the one query that did make it past my confusion   
must have helped. ". . . what?"  
  
"Obviously not," Erk observed, noting my pause in eating before turning back to   
his work -- how he managed to balance both his books and still manage to eat   
the syrupy noodle mess was beyond my comprehension -- and pretending to   
ignore us again. Canas shot Erk a look that was a cross between annoyed and   
impressed before turning back to me.  
  
"No? No clue?" Canas tapped his head. "I really think he's got some sort of   
possessive complex."  
  
Possessive? I snorted a very un-Lucius like snort . . . this line of thought seemed  
familiar; to me, at least. "I'm hardly Raven's."  
  
The faint trace of longing in my voice slipped through. Erk's head bobbed for   
a moment, his only sign of his listening, but I did hear his faint 'ew' as he kept   
reading. Canas paused, and shrugged, before continuing to rant on other possible  
psycological defects Lord Raymond might have. Well, it's nice to see that while  
all my fellow magicians are straight, they're not the violently inclined sort. It seems  
Erk is shying away from me now, though . . . sigh.  
  
Well, that's the way the cookie crumbles. I turned back and tried to listen on   
Canas's rambling.  
  
"-- and honestly," The druid nodded politely, as though he were talking about  
how the tea was too cold rather then the deepest mental capabilities of my liege   
lord, "I think he's got a bit of case of anthropophobia as well -- yes, the fear of  
people in general -- because he insists on scaring away almost every person that  
comes near him. Things like that don't develop on their own, perhaps he's gone   
through a traumatic experience or something --" I tried not to wince; he'd hit close   
to the mark there. Having one's family massacred in the next room wasn't exactly  
a happy memory. "--or perhaps he just hates us all. I'm sure there's a word for   
that . . . Erk?"  
  
"Like I know."  
  
"Just checking." Canas, in an uncommon show of nonchalance, shrugged.  
"Not to mention, of course, that he's got a serious problem with . . .with, ah   
. . . erm . . ."  
  
The druid stumbled over his sentence, which was a rare occurrence, as he   
was almost always neat with his words. I tilted my head. "Is there something wrong?"  
  
Canas wasn't staring at me anymore. He was staring over my shoulder . . . and  
I remembered what had happened the last few times that had happened with   
Florina, and then the second time, with Rebecca, along with Canas's previous   
'stalking' query. I let out a weary breath.  
  
"Canas, is Raven standing right behind me?"  
  
He didn't answer. Canas's eyes never leaving Raven's -- who it seemed, really  
WAS right behind me, the scholar gathered his books and quietly -- if a bit   
clumsily -- slunk off. Erk, apparently, was long gone. Clever boy.  
  
I shook my head and 'tutted', not even looking back at my mercenary liege.  
  
"Really, Lord Raymond, he has a point," I said with a sigh. "You have been  
following me around. . . and as a result, I haven't been able to keep up a   
decent conversation all through lunch."  
  
I heard his boots loudly behind me as he walked around me, and then I   
watched -- with dismay -- as he sat down right across from me. Raymond   
never, EVER sat blatantly WITH me. Near me, yes. Occasionally by me,   
but only if I were with Priscilla. He said that he didn't want others to see a   
connection between us, and I could understand that . . . so why was he   
sitting with me?  
  
I licked my lips hesitantly, and leaned forward to peer at his face as I   
voiced, "L-Lord Raymond?"  
  
No reaction. His face was expressionless, staring at a spot near my ankle.   
He didn't have any food with him, and I ventured, "Lord Raymond, you   
must eat if you wish to be well . . . this break from travel is supposed to --"  
  
Raven snapped up, causing me to jerk back and cut off my own words.   
The next phrase to come out of his mouth was probably the most awkward   
and random thing I'd ever heard him say. Ever.

He leaned forward and said with startling clarity, "I don't want you kissing   
people, Lucius."  
  
W-What? Wait . . . WHAT!? Where on Elimine's good earth had THAT come  
from? My mouth fell open. . . well, alright. My mouth didn't actually, literally   
fall open, but my eyes widened and my hair fell back in a wave as I jerked in   
surprise. This was only my outer reaction, and a painful tug in my chest added   
to the war that shock and astonishment were battling in my mind.  
  
Well . . . I thought that over. . . and wondered why. Raven, of course, did care  
for me to some degree . . . perhaps he was just worried about . . . I gave a   
mental sigh. Yes, he was just a bit worried. . .  
  
My answering reply was slow, cautious, and to the point. "My . . . my vows   
don't include chastity, Lord Raymond," I reminded gently. "St. Elimine does not   
incur such things upon her children."  
  
Raven fixated a look on me. Not his infamous glare -- he had never glared at me  
-- but it was very close. I swallowed, had I misinterpreted him? "T-That's besides  
the point," he snapped.

I flinched back slightly; what had gotten him in such a bad mood? Had Wil been   
pestering him again, or had he spent the entire time mulling over revenge, again?  
Had that been a stutter I detected? From Lord Raymond?  
  
I watched as he scowled down at the ground, for once offering an explanation  
without my asking. "I don't want you hurt, we'll be leaving these people as soon  
as their mission is through. . ."  
  
Oh.  
  
"I . . ." What was this about? What was it to him if I wanted to kiss people?   
Yes, Raymond was a bit of a control freak, but . . . "Do you intend to smother  
me?" I asked, my voice demanding but still holding traces of my shock.  
  
Raven's head swung up. "Are you in--" He paused. "Are you attracted to   
someone?"  
  
Well, he'd read far more into my remark then even I had. Was I really that   
obvious? I hoped he never figured out just who it was that I was attracted   
to. I looked him in the eye, unwilling to tell him anything other then the truth.   
" . . . Yes."  
  
"Who?" The demand was curt and rapid.  
  
Well, I couldn't very well tell the truth to THAT. Not with him so near. . . I   
felt myself shudder, and pull back, although I kept eye contact. "Please, please  
don't make me say," I pleaded, eyes wide. Of course, if he asked again, I'd tell  
him . . . he was my liege lord, after all . . . I had to obey him without question.   
And he knew this; he knew that one plea was as far as I'd go . . . with most   
things.  
  
He looked away, down at his bound wrist. " . . . very well . . ." he muttered.   
He began to tighten the wrappings absently, and I watched as his calloused  
fingers nimbly undid and rewound the cloth around his arm. The action was   
repeated, and I let myself be mesmerized by the simple movement and his   
dexterous grace . . . I hope he didn't notice my staring . . .  
  
"Lucius."  
  
I jumped. The tone with which he said it was that of a call to order.  
  
"Yes, milord?" I replied, dutifully setting down my bowl to speak.  
  
He frowned, the furrow in his brow deepening, as though what he did was against  
his better judgment. This, of course, only served to make me pay even more attention.  
  
"What," he asked almost wonderingly, yet still with his commanding voice, "makes  
you attracted to this . . . someone?"  
  
"Why?" I blurted out, before wincing and touching my fingers to my mouth.   
Why indeed -- why was Raven able to break my calm self so easily? Think,  
Lucius, think. "Are . . ." My eyes flew open with realization. No. No, it couldn't  
be.  
  
"Are you attracted to someone, Raymond?" I blurted out the question in such   
rush that I forgot to add the necessary 'Lord' in front of his name. I flushed at   
that -- that, and the actual question -- but he didn't seem to notice either as he   
released his bindings and flexed his wrist with a reluctant sort of gesture. He   
was still scowling, and not meeting my eyes, but his voice belied his fierce-seeming  
demeanor.  
  
". . . Yes." It was said so, so reluctantly . . . I swallowed. I knew he wasn't  
really attracted to Priscilla, for all that they'd gotten engaged . . . but he just   
couldn't bring himself to get close to anyone. . . Who was it? Was it Rebecca?  
Maybe?  
  
"Oh . . . " I struggled to compose my thoughts as they strayed into a million  
tangents at once. I couldn't lie to him, but if I described my vision of him to   
his face, would he be able to tell that it was him I was talking about? "I'm . . .   
the person I'm attracted to . . ." I quailed at getting into this description at all,  
Raven wasn't stupid, but I had no choice but to tell him.  
  
"They're kind, and protective, and once put to a task, sees it through to the   
best of ability," I explained through a thick throat. "Something that's to be   
done, to them, should be done right." I thought about that for a moment, and   
smiled gently, humor finding it's way into my voice.  
  
"Although, that might be due to the fact they're stubborn as a brick . . ." I   
looked up at Raven solemnly, begging him with my eyes to understand.   
"You see," I said quietly, "It's not just because of their looks, although,"   
My smile widened. "He IS very handsome . . ."  
  
Lord Raymond cast a questioning look at me. "He?" He asked softly.  
  
I felt my eyes widen of their own accord, and looked down sharply. That  
. . . was a very big mistake. I knew that most in the camp were indifferent to  
other's preferences as long as people respected their own -- Legault had gone  
around prying people about it for days -- but Raven had been one of the   
few who had declined answer. "Well . . . I . . ." I stuttered, bashfully looking  
into my lap.  
  
I wasn't -- surprise surprise -- a very good liar, and Raymond would be   
able to see through me. I took a deep breath. "Yes." Meeting his eyes, I   
said clearly, "He."  
  
He did nothing but nod, and look down. "Ah . . ."  
  
We sat in silence, next to each other, a cheering bird in the background   
along with the formless babble of our companions. Raven's shadow was   
shielding me from the sun, and my exhaustion wasn't the only thing tempting me  
to lean my head on milord's shoulder. The silence that was not truly silence   
stretched, and I wondered if he really thought so horribly of me.  
  
"The person," Lord Raymond said softly, breaking the silence between us   
and causing me to look up at him as he paused uncertainly, "The person   
I'm attracted to . . . is beautiful." I blinked back tears at his soft, husky statement.   
I would give much to be able to be the recipient of such praise . . . the recipient  
of his emotions, to have him speak that huskily in my ear . . . I resisted the   
urge to sob and scolded myself. I should be grateful he's opening up about   
his emotions at all.  
  
Raven continued, in that low, wonderful tone. "They're generous, and selfless,  
and would do anything for another . . . " He snorted, and sighed tensely.   
"That worries me, because I know they'd risk their very life if they thought they   
could save another's . . ." he trailed up, and glanced up at me sharply, as if   
expecting me to say something.  
  
What was there to say to THAT? 'I'm sorry, milord, but I'm too madly  
in love in with you to say anything not involving a creative suggestion for   
where your silly crush and her slutty rear end might belong'? I couldn't  
even THINK that without feeling guilty; it would hardly be a silly crush if   
he admitted to it.

Raymond didn't give his affections lightly to anyone . . . not even to me,   
and I'd grown up with him . . . it had taken me months, even as a child,  
to get him to play with me, and even though he HAD played a bit rough,   
even then . . .  
  
Perhaps memories were not the best thing to dwell on at the moment. . .   
on the bright side, if he were disgusted with my preferences he wouldn't   
have told me that. . . but that wasn't helping me at all.  
  
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "That sounds like a worthy person to be   
attracted to." My voice was, thanks to a swift prayer, somewhat even.   
Thank you, St Jude, Oh patron saint of hopeless causes . . .  
  
Raven nodded stoically, and raised his eyes to meet mine. "As did yours."   
His gaze was calm . . .  
  
I wished it wasn't. I wished it held the fiery glaze that Guy had turned on  
Matthew, the admiration and teasing care Serra bestowed on Erk, or   
even the innocent affection Lady Priscilla occasionally looked at me   
with. . . I wished it held anything at all . . .

And suddenly, he looked away, and abruptly stood up. "I have things to  
attend to," he stated, his words muttered slightly as he left.  
  
He left.  
  
Just like that.  
  
I watched him go, and realized . . . never once had I walked away from   
Lord Raymond. Always . . . always, he was walking away from me. That   
thought didn't settle well with my stomach, and I felt it slowly fill with stone  
and begin to sink as I frowned. I slunk down on a rock -- the same one, I   
realized, that Guy had sat on to think over Matthew -- and sighed.  
  
"Well, that was obvious." A familiar, humor-filled voice broke my train of thought.   
I glanced up, and watched as Matthew and Guy approached, both of their hair wet,  
apparently from a bath in the stream.  
  
Somehow, as the thief walked towards me, his usual swagger seemed more defined,  
his casual air sloppily shown off by his tilted head and stance. Matthew's eyes  
were half lidded, and he looked through his eyelashes in his lazy perusing. He  
smirked, and reminded me of the cat who had eaten the canary . . . and gotten   
away with it. Said canary -- Guy -- was following, and although his walk was  
slightly disjointed, his face had a similar, lazy expression.  
  
In any case, Matthew certainly shouldn't be talking about being obvious. Just  
looking at them said a hundred things I didn't care to describe . . . not very   
deeply, in any case. Not only that, but even before now he'd 'attacked' Guy   
multiple times in the middle of the night, not to mention stolen his pants . . .   
Matthew was a master of subtlety, but he had his off moments. I wisely didn't   
mention any of this to him, though.  
  
I smiled sweetly. "Did you two make up? Oh good." Matthew grinned like a   
shark and Guy flushed; I couldn't help adding to my statement. "Although,   
you two might want to try going a bit farther from camp next time you decide  
to . . . reconcile your differences?" I said in an equally sweet tone. Guy   
choked, and I glanced at him slightly.  
  
"Your love bites are showing, Guy." Shaking my head, I gestured to his neck,  
which his loose  
  
Sacaen garb did little to cover in the front. Actually, several were showing,  
and Matthew inspected them with a critical eye, seeming proud of his work.  
The swordmaster stuttered something, before pinning the two sides of his   
collar together to shield his neck from view. For all that Guy was blushing  
like a virgin, I knew that such a description was much, much farther from   
the truth then it might have been an hour ago.  
  
I sighed again, and leaned forward sulkily. My teasing words were proof   
of my irritable mood; I'd been through more emotional stress today then   
in the past month combined, and it was only early afternoon. . . when we  
finally moved out in two days, I'd be glad for the distraction.

Matthew -- and I really do hate his perceptiveness -- noticed my   
downtrodden disposition. Surprisingly enough, I hadn't had much contact  
with either of the two before that day; the tactician never put us near each   
other in fights, yet now I knew far, far more about them then I wished to   
know . . . the feeling seemed to be mutual. "You don't seem very happy,"   
remarked Matthew.  
  
I winced. "Maybe . . ." I admitted this grudgingly, even to myself. " . . . maybe  
I'm just the tiniest bit jealous of you two."  
  
Guy tilted his head. "But it's really kind of your doing that we're . . ." Guy feebly   
tried to gesture a connection between Matthew and him. ". . .well . . . you know . . ."  
  
"Really?" Matthew peered at me with warm eyes. "I guess I owe you my thanks."

"And I still owe you that drink," Guy said, nodding enthusiastically.  
  
I looked up at them. They were trying to cheer me up, and even though it was  
fairly obvious . . . I was grateful enough that they cared at all, and I felt the   
teensiest bit better. "Thank you." I said, but it was drowned out by Matthew   
slinging a casual arm around Guy -- Guy flushed at even the most casual   
contact between them, I realized -- and saying, "Should I return the favor   
with you and Raven?"  
  
I choked. Matthew cocked an eyebrow; and I knew my oh-so-subtle   
reaction (koffNOTkoff)had revealed my feelings on the matter. "I, uh . . ."   
I found myself grasping for words. "Our situation is . . . different, and um . . ."  
  
"How so?"  
  
I looked at him, annoyed but not willing to show it. It was easy for HIM to  
talk about these things, he'd just spent the past hour doing Elimine-knew-what  
with Guy. . . "Well, don't affections generally need to be returned?"

Guy snorted. "Yeah, the situation IS different. You're actually willing to fess   
up to -- OUCH! H-Hey, Matthew!" I felt my mouth twitch as Matthew   
grabbed Guy's braid and yanked down sharply on it. He didn't let go, and  
Guy pulled back experimentally, wincing, before ending up pulling again   
and demanding the Matthew let him go.  
  
"And," Matthew said amiably over Guy's shrieks, pretending he didn't have   
a deadly swordsman on a short leash -- literally. "What makes you think   
they aren't? Returned, I mean."

Well, there WAS the whole Raven-proposed-to-his-sister bit . . . Although   
Lady Priscilla had said yes, she had admitted being completely comfortable  
with the idea to me. After all . . . he was her BROTHER, even though such  
matches weren't frowned upon in royal houses. . . . But then, Raven had   
admitted to being attracted to someone else. But I had a feeling it wouldn't  
be fair to Raven to reveal such a personal thing, so I settled for a curt,   
"He's engaged."  
  
Silence. I straightened my back, and stood. Well, that seemed to shut   
them up nicely. I couldn't help but rub it in -- to myself, more then to   
them. "It wasn't even arranged, Raymond proposed to HER" --nice,   
big emphasis on the 'her' -- "and she said yes." 

I blinked, and found myself wondering just who Raven DID like. "He   
told me he . . . well . . . I . . ." I struggled with words, not knowing why I   
was so desperate to say them to begin with.  
  
I found myself talking aloud, more to the grass more then to the prying couple,   
more just to say the words then to actually have them heard. ". . . so   
maybe I'm not exactly beautiful, despite what Priscilla says . . . people tell  
me all the time that I look like a girl, though, and I can agree with that . . .   
isn't that close enough? And maybe I'm not exactly generous, I mean, I'm   
jealous of alot of things . . ." I hesitated. I was really quite scathingly jealous  
of Matthew and Guy's passion for each other. "I suppose that also means I'm   
not self-less . . . but I've risked my life for people before . . ." Actually, just   
one person . . . Lord Raymond. I felt my eyes tearing up again, and I fingered  
my saint charms absently.  
  
"I've at least got my saints for all of those things," I muttered, "What have   
they got that I don't?" 'They', of course, being the horrible nasty unknown   
person who I really hate -- if I could find them -- that MY Lord Raymond liked.  
  
I wanted to throw myself at the ground at the ground and cry like a child . . .   
like a child, youare, Lord Raymond had said . . . "Does he really see me   
as only a child?" I whispered. A child . . . someone to be protected and   
cared for, but never interested in beyond that . . . I really was crying, too,   
which I only realized when a wet trail made it's way down my cheek.  
  
I sniffed and rubbed it away with my sleeve.  
  
An almost petite clearing of the throat jolted me back. Guy looked   
extremely awkward. "Aw . . . c'mon, Lucius . . ." He leaned back, hands  
stuffed uncomfortably in his pockets. "I HATE it when girls cry . . ."  
  
Matthew choked, and while normally I would have protested such a remark,   
I just gave him a sharp glare before I sighed. Really, I felt too tired to speak   
up much. "I feel awful . . ." I muttered. "Embarrassing, telling anyone that . . .."  
  
Silence.  
  
"I'll think of something." I heard Matthew say. I looked up.  
  
Guy, for a moment, seemed as though he too was about to offer assurance,  
before his eyes widened and he turned to face his companion. "M-Matthew!"  
  
The apparent dismay and urgency caused Matthew to snap his head to  
listen as the distressed swordmaster yanked on Matthew's cape anxiously.  
"We . . ." Guy said in horror, "We missed lunch!"  
  
Ah, yes. The horror, indeed.  
  
I let out a small smile, and giving them my thanks, as well as telling them that   
any actions on their part weren't necessary -- oh, right, like they'd actually  
listen -- I made my way back to camp. I wondered if it would be considered   
lazy if I went to take a nap. It wasn't as though I couldn't, these WERE   
rest days after all, but it might throw my sleeping schedule off. And really,   
it simply wouldn't do for me to head into battle, staggering from exhaustion.  
  
Even if I was about to stagger from exhaustion right now. I let out a tiny groan   
and slumped onto a tent-pole, allowing my eyes to slide shut as I mentally  
went over things I could do that could keep my mind off sleep. Think think think . . .  
  
" -- told me why you're still here." A testy, voice snapped through my dull  
thoughts. I snapped to attention. Lord Raymond?! I thought he had things   
to attend to . . .? My hands automatically went up to flatten my hair and   
straighten my robes, before I realized what I was doing and stopped.  
  
Flushing, I forced my hands to my sides and looked around, hoping to see  
where he'd gone.  
  
Wil's voice piped up. "But Sir Raven! I just wanted to --"  
  
"No." Raymond's voice was flat and monotonous, even compared to its   
normal tight tones. This meant, to my Raven-senses, that he wasn't very   
happy at the moment, and that if Wil wanted to live to see another sunrise,  
he would be wise to back off. Wil, needless to say, wasn't very wise.  
  
The archer persisted, dancing around to Raven's side. "But I --"  
  
"No."  
  
"You --"  
  
"No."  
  
Hiding my mouth with my hand as it betrayed me into a grin, I watched   
as Wil skidded to a halt, finally reading the danger signs and giving up.   
Scowling at Raven's retreating back -- how dare he scowl at my Raven?  
-- he peered around for someone new to 'converse' with. And of course,  
my luck being poor as it was, his eyes immediately met mine.  
  
"Lucius! Hey!"  
  
Raven heard my name and pivoted slightly. I sent him a wave, and managed  
to get out half a bow before Wil barreled into me with a hug. I tried   
desperately to pry him loose, and mouthed over to Raven in my desperation,  
'please help me.' Really, he's too cruel sometimes, he just stood there and watched.  
  
I really should watch what I wish for. Talking to Wil certainly left no room   
for being tired.  
  
"Good afternoon, Wil," I said, forcing away the thick tone that my drowsiness   
tried to force on me. "How's your aim?"  
  
Wil beamed -- must be at the prospect of being able to talk to someone who  
both A) listened B) replied, and C) had more to say then " . . . " -- and   
immediately rattled off a reply. "Oh, my aim's doing just fine! And let me tell you,  
Rath's so cool, he's been teaching me a few things about riding and shooting,   
which is really kinda scary since his horse is huge -- Have you seen that thing?   
What am I saying, of course you have -- but in any case, Rath's been helping   
with that; neat, huh?"  
  
Processing that took longer then it should. "I suppose so. I don't know Rath  
very well. He's very quiet," I said, tilting my head to side attentively. I shot  
a side look to Lord Raymond; he was still watching, with that strange,   
focused look, as if trying to read deeper into the conversation then necessary.  
  
"Yeah, he kinda is," Wil admitted blithely. "And he's serious, but that's a good  
thing because it makes him such a good teacher! He's always so focused!   
But I can see why, it's hella hard just to RIDE that beast, so he's probably   
got the focus of, I dunno . . . a rock or something, to be able to both ride   
and shoot like that!" He grinned. "And he's learning how to use a sword,   
Lady Lyn says that he'll need to when she gives him that Orion's Bolt. I'm   
lucky he's taking the time to teach me like this, I'm going to see him right now."  
  
I frowned. "Wait, Rath's getting the Orion's Bolt? I thought . . . she was   
giving that to you?"  
  
"Nah! Well, yeah, but no!" Wil shook his head, putting one hand in his   
pocket and gesturing with the other. "She got another one; Legault nicked   
it off some sniper a few battles ago, though it kinda makes you wonder   
what a sniper was doing with an Orion's Bolt . . . I mean, they're already   
a sniper, right? Why do they need it?"  
  
"I suppose it was the sniper's business to know," I said evenly, watching not  
Wil, but Raymond, as he slowly stalked off. As he disappeared from my  
line of sight, I finished, "And Legault probably silenced that knowledge forever."  
  
"Yeah, I guess. . ." Wil pouted for a moment, before perking up. "Hey! Y'don't  
think you could come along with me, huh?" I blinked. "To the lesson, I mean,  
I'm heading there now, and I kinda suck at it and you've got that nifty Heal staff."  
  
I gave him a wry smile. "Got a few bruises last time? I suppose." I WAS   
looking for something to do, and this might be amusing. . . although, I did need to. . .  
  
"Yeah! And you can meet Rath!" Wil bubbled, grabbing my wrist -- I squeaked  
-- and dragging me through camp. "I mean, you've already met Rath, but you  
haven't MET met Rath, cuz you kinda have to get to know him in order for  
him to say something other then dot-dot-dot, know what I mean? Eh, guess   
not, but that's besides the point."  
  
"I . . . I suppose not," I said haltingly, having not paid attention to what he  
said, since all my attention was on keeping his brisk pace without falling over  
both mine and his feet.  
  
"Yeah! I said I'd meet Rath right around here, and he's never late, even   
though I think I am." Wil frowned, and then cupped his hand around his  
mouth to make his voice even (eek) louder. Rath! Hey, hey Rath, are ya here yet?"  
  
"Is that you, Wil?" I heard a voice sound to our left, along with the distinct  
clopping of hooves. "I've just come from camp."  
  
Wil grinned as Rath came into view from behind a large oak. "Rath, hey,   
look, I brought Lucius along today. You know, you've seen Lucius, right?"   
I found myself wanting to inch behind Wil as the nomad's intense eyes focused   
onto me. Wil really must be oblivious if he can stand that for minutes at a time.  
  
" . . . " Rath led his beast towards us, and I realized his silence was encouraged  
by my presence.  
  
I gave Rath a small smile. "Wil invited me to watch, namely for my healing abilities."  
  
In reply, Rath looked down at me from his considerably taller height, completely   
expressionless. He made no threatening moves, and his face was completely  
blank . . . but I could sense a certain iron will behind him, a certain strength   
. . . it made me nervous. I fought the urge to shrink back from his inspecting gaze,   
feeling that he could somehow sense my uneasiness around him.  
  
"Er . . . it IS OK if he stays, right Rath?" Wil looked up at the nomad with a   
sheepish, bashful sort of grin. After making that note, I had to do a double   
take at Wil . . . what? I had a number of adjectives pinned on the archer --   
including and not limited to loud, obnoxious, brash, and tactless -- but 'bashful'   
wasn't one of them. Not to mention, of course, Rath's formation of complete  
sentences. I thought he only did that around Lady Lyn.  
  
Was I . . . missing something?  
  
I stared at Wil, then at Rath, then back at Wil again. And then I said, as   
carefully and as diplomatically as I could, "I don't mind either choice."   
Gesturing to the high sun with my staff, I continued, "I was going to have a   
fairly uneventful afternoon anyway."  
  
After sending Wil a look that was somehow both stoic and confused, Rath   
turned back to me and gave me a slow nod. " . . . Fine." I kept smiling,   
concentrating desperately on looking harmless. It was very hard to do,   
since I was rather small and (shudder) girly to begin with. To tell the truth,  
I found Rath to be quite intimidating . . .

Wil didn't seem to notice, and with many clumsy grabs, swung himself into the  
saddle. I tilted my head as he tottered atop the horse, looking completely out  
of place as he tried to keep his balance. Rath guided his hands to the reins,   
and Wil grabbed them in a death grip.  
  
"Hold them looser," commanded Rath, prying Wil's fingers loose. "Dig your  
heels in, like last time, lightly. A bit harder then that . . . there. Lean forward."  
  
The horse under Wil began to move, albeit slowly. Wil teetered a bit, then   
steadied. With a grin, the archer turned to Rath excitedly. "H-Hey, this isn't  
so bad! I think I can -- oh, wait -- eep!ACK!" I covered my eyes as Wil  
began to slide to the right, but didn't quite block out the loud THUMP that  
followed as he hit the dirt.  
  
I began to advance with my Heal staff, but the nomad held up a commanding   
hand to stop me as he peered at Wil. To me, Rath looked stoic as usual, but  
Wil seemed to be able to differentiate Rath's expressions as I was able to tell   
with Raven's.

Wil muttered as he stumbled up and wiped the dust of his knees. "No, not   
your fault, Rath. I mean, it's not like you could force me to stay on the horse  
. . . well you could if you had enough rope, I guess, but that defeats the point,   
doesn't it?"  
  
". . . Try again," Rath nodded, and Wil swung himself awkwardly into the saddle   
once more. The lesson continued . . . in a sense.  
  
THUMP. "Oof! Ow . . . that hurt . . . no, no, I can take it!"  
  
THUMP. "OUCH! No no, I'm good, I'm fine, see?"  
  
THUMP. "I'm OK! Really, that didn't hurt too bad! Oh . . . er . . . Lucius?  
Is that bone, ah, is that supposed to bend that way?"  
  
Only Will could remain that cheerful after being slammed repeatedly into the  
ground by his own incompetence. Somewhere through the middle, I   
switched my Heal for my Mend staff.  
  
Rath, for his credit, was indeed a diligent teacher. He pointed out gently,   
if a bit gruffly, to Wil why he'd been sent sprawling, and then told him how  
to correct it. For the archer's credit, Wil never fell for the same reason twice  
and was actually making progress, but apparently . . . there was more than  
one way to fall off a horse.  
  
To the horse's credit . . . well, there wasn't much credit to be handed there.  
  
THUMP. "Um . . . that one hurt . . . "  
  
Rath didn't say anything, he just turned to me and stepped back, letting me   
run my healing magic over Wil once more.  
  
Wil got up . . . and my Mend staff promptly snapped in two with a loud  
twanging crack. I'll never get that, how after an exact number of uses, my  
staves break -- and usually at the most inconvenient times. Really, and to  
lose a Mend staff at this point in time of our quest, so near  
the end . . . I stared at the clean break, and then let out a resigned sigh.  
  
"I'll have to tell the tactician about this," I mulled unhappily.  
  
Our tactician was rather odd in the sense that he/she demanded on having  
an up-to-date inventory of all weaponry. Mind you, I couldn't fault him/her  
in any way, we hadn't lost a single fighter yet, but . . . he/she was really   
quite . . . um . . . unorthodox. I was afraid that he/she wouldn't be happy   
when he/she saw the split stave; apparently, the next shop was quite a ways   
away.  
  
"Oooh, right! Sorry about that!" Wil managed to wince perkily -- quite an   
achievement, in my point of view -- as he babbled on. "Er . . . I'll make do   
without the healing from now on then . . . Immean, I did before you came   
along, after all."  
  
"I'll go directly, then," I said with a small sigh. "I'll see you later, Wil . . . you  
too, Rath."  
  
Rath wasn't looking at me, he was peering at the shaded and reasonably  
hidden edge of the area. I frowned, but he did give me a nod with a cursory   
" . . . " before I left. Wil waved enthusiastically, along with a not-so-cursory   
ramble about the best way to get to the tactician's tent.  
  
I started back to the camp through the small grove of trees . . . and felt a   
small niggling feeling at the nape of my neck. I tensed up, but kept walking,   
if at a faster pace. While my instincts weren't as enhanced as Nil's or Ninian's,  
I knew this much: I was being watched, or followed. Or both.  
  
Now, I realize that considering the events at lunch, I should have been able to   
tell instantly who was following me. However, I plea in my defense that I was  
tired, frustrated (in more ways then one) and my mind wasn't working at a   
hundred percent capacity. At whatever capacity it was working on, however,   
my brain was trying to find a way to perhaps outsmart or outrun my pursuer.

. . . Hmph, don't laugh. Lately, with all the fighting and battles and such, we  
all had a perfectly legitimate reason to be paranoid. While I wasn't as   
paranoid as, say, Heath usually was, I'd learned to stay on guard.  
  
Which brought me back to my predicament: my pursuer was now very,  
very close.  
  
Relying purely on whatever self-defense instinct I had, I whirled on the   
presence, with my hair going everywhere and a rather un-manly shriek,   
wielding my only current weapon with an unpractical twirl. My full 120   
pounds slammed into the person, and we tumbled back, ending up with   
me sprawled on their stomach and the point of my stave near the side of   
their neck.  
  
I'm sure I was VERY threatening, what with the fact that my hair was now a  
leafy, twiggy mess and I was pointing a HEAL STAFF at their throat, but   
at the time I was too full of righteous indignation to care, because I'd recognized  
them immediately. I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was.  
  
"L-Lord Raymond!" I squeaked, appalled that both A) my liege lord was   
indeed stalking me and B) my liege lord was indeed bearing the brunt of my   
weight. Because, you know, I'd ATTACKED him.  
  
"M-My apologies!" I squeaked, unable to keep the horror out of my voice. I'd   
just gone against my primary instinct to protect Raven -- I'd attacked him! Not  
that I could have actually hurt him or anything, what with having limp noodles for  
muscles and a beneficiary for a weapon . . . but what mattered was the principle   
of the thing! "I-I didn't know it was you . . . a-and I'm very --"  
  
"Tense." Raven said, raising an eyebrow. I jerked my head up, blinking at him   
bewilderedly. A half-smile appeared on his lips. "Calm down, Lucius."  
  
I had an easier time relaxing then I should have -- the rumbling vibrations that   
Raven's voice made through his chest and shoulders was very relaxing, as was   
his steady breathing. Trying to match my breath to his, I buried my head into the  
crook between his collar and shoulder bone, spending a good ten seconds just  
breathing in his scent . . . a strange, heady mixture of pine and mint and sweat . . ..  
  
It was somewhere around then that I realized the exact position I -- no, WE were  
in. When we'd fallen, Raymond's arm had made its way around my waist. My face   
was buried in his collarbone, and I'd long since dropped my Heal in favor of   
grasping the front of his tunic. Needless to say, it was a picture that elicited   
several other images . . . I felt my breath hitch, and my face grew very warm as  
I slowly lifted it to meet Raven's gaze.  
  
He looked at me as well, and we stared at each other blankly. Something was   
beginning to glow in Raven's eyes, as though the crimson was beginning to burn  
like an ember. . . a flicker of recognition began to form in the front of my mind . . .  
  
But it was cut off as Raven sat, up, taking me with him. I yelped as he easily   
plucked me off of him, lifting me up. I was in his arms for a full few seconds before  
he set me delicately on my feet, and the blood rushed to my head at the sudden   
change in position. I dizzily wondered at his abrupt reaction, when just a moment  
ago he'd been pleasantly amused at the situation. I steadied myself with a hand  
on the nearest elm.  
  
Raymond walked five feet away, then back, his brows furrowed in what seemed  
to be concentration. He was completely bewildered by something, although   
you wouldn't know it if you didn't know him.  
  
The intense look along with the pacing . . . most would mistake this for anger,   
but I knew better.  
  
"Lord Raymond?" I questioned worriedly, stepping up to him. "Are you . . . well?"  
With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I wondered, was this my fault?   
He turned away, obviously trying to avoid my eye contact. "I'm fine," he said   
bluntly, his voice somehow rougher then usual.  
  
With a frown, I remembered the righteous indignation I was supposed to be   
feeling. "Lord Raymond," I started slowly. The uncharacteristic, almost   
demanding tone in my voice caused his head to turn back to face me as I spoke.  
I stepped towards him, putting one lightly coiled fist on my hip.  
  
"Have you been following me?"  
  
There was no pause as he nodded. I stepped back, trying to comprehend   
what this might mean.  
  
Shameless. . . I have never in my memory gotten truly, really honestly angry   
with Raven -- frustrated and aggravated, yes, but never angry -- but this . . .   
this really took the proverbial cake. "You really ARE trying to smother me,   
aren't you?" I demanded in a tone of voice I didn't think I had.

Raven's subtle shift in posture showed his surprise as well. "Is there a reason   
you're doing this?" I asked, less gently then I normally might have. "I deserve to   
know."   
  
He looked away again. " . . . I don't know why." His voice really was quite rough . . .  
  
I frowned again, but this time with worry. "You sound hoarse," I noted softly,  
telling myself that his health came before figuring out his reasons. "Are you   
coming down with something? You should let me take a look . . ." Raven flinched   
away when I tried to place my hand on his shoulder. . . I pulled in a short   
breath. Had I done something wrong? I swallowed my pride as well as the   
lump in my throat. "Or . . . at least get Serra to . . ."  
  
Silence. I circled around him so I could see his face, and he turned his head   
slightly to look at me. I don't know what spurred me to say it, but I added in   
a small hopeful little voice, "For my sake?"  
  
Raymond blinked, and to my surprise, let out a weary sigh. He never showed   
any sort of weakness, be it exhaustion or frustration or anything else, so   
openly. " . . . Very well," he muttered to the side. He jerked up from his   
leaning posture against the tree to face the camp, and looked back at me.  
"I'll be training near camp. Call me if you need me." With that, he adjusted  
his sword sheath and belts and crossed his arms, heading back in the   
direction of the enclosure of tents.

The grove had seemed quiet before I'd noticed Raven, but now it seemed   
deathly silent. What had just happened . . . he didn't know why he was following  
me? That didn't make much sense at all . . . I was too tired to be thinking at   
that sort of level . . .  
  
I leaned back against the tree, reveling in the feel of the bark on my back. It felt   
rather nice, to just rest like this. Oh, no, I couldn't sleep, of course, I still had to  
report my broken Mend to the tactician -- but maybe if I could have just rested  
there, and maybe let my eyes shut the tiniest bit . . . And as much as I hate to   
admit it, I would have fallen asleep, if it weren't for the whistle of air and audible  
'KER-THUNK' that audibly followed.  
  
I blinked twice, rather blankly, at the spear that had imbedded itself into the  
tree beside my head. Then I looked over at the forest to see a rather large,   
black armored man atop an oversized horse, yanking another spear from his  
saddlebag.

. . . Well, this wasn't good.  
  
I groped automatically at my hip for my spellbook, mentally preparing  
to chant the words . . . before remembering that none of us had counted   
on a battle, it being a respite from the toils we'd gone through over the  
past few months. I hadn't bothered bringing one with me . . . so all my   
spellbooks were back in my tent, tucked away near my staves and Erk's scrolls.  
  
I peered at my only available weapon, a single Heal staff, then back at the   
paladin, who was preparing his second attack.  
  
Ah, no. No, this wasn't good at all.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Hmm . . . it's not often I get actual threats from reviewers. Rather scary,   
actually. Well? What'd ya think?   
  
Next chapter: the last installment of Don't Get Over It, and my pathetic attempt  
at a battle scene. Joy.   
  
(Ya know, I write faster with reviews. . . nudge nudge Heh . . . subtle, ain't I?)


	3. Part Three: Dusk

Do I look smart and beautiful enough to have come up with the brilliance that is Rekka no Ken? . . .  
Aw, I'm flattered, but seriously? I didn't create Rekka no Ken, IT AIN'T MINE.

Rated for kissing (yes, Lucius DOES get some action in this chapter! Very tough to write--) and   
for all that shounen-ai goodness. That, and the shockingly obvious lack of het . . . Not even Jaffar/  
Nino is mentioned. How . . . sad.

This is it, then. Teh end. . . Wow, it's over? Kind of weird, actually . . . I really truly enjoyed writing   
this, it was fun, and I'd appreciate it if you let me know if you enjoy the ending or not (too fluffy,   
methinks . . . ) I couldn't get in touch with my beta, so typos galore. (e-mail issues; hey R Amythest,  
I think the problem was at your end cuz my email's working fine with everyone else I've mailed.)   
Not to mention, the chapter is some 3000 words shorter then I orginally intended . . . deal with it.

I'm glad to know all my readers actually took the forty-five minutes of your life to read this, and for   
a few of you, to appreciate the work I put into it and reviewed.

You'll be seeing me back in the FE section soon, that's a promise!

-------------------------------start fic----------------------------------

I scrambled up, haphazardly throwing myself to the side. The second spear sank harmlessly into the   
wood with a solid twanging THUNK.

He had come, I realized with a sinking feeling, from Wil and Rath's direction. Were they okay? Had  
they hidden in time, had the enemy paladin missed them completely? I had no way to find out, and   
the priority at the moment was two things.

One, survival. I picked up the hem of my robes and screamed, as loud as I could, which was   
unfortunately very high pitched. As much as I'm sure the enemy was disarmed by my, er, 'manly' war  
cry, I wasn't about to take chances and I turned in the general direction of the camp and ran.

Now, I've previously mentioned the difficulties of running in heels and a skirt (not that it's a skirt, of   
course . . . it's robes, I swear!) and when said runner doesn't even have a path to follow, it doesn't   
help. I hopped as best as I could over logs and stones, and while thankfully the woods hindered the   
horseman more then it did me, my chances for survival were still slim.

Priority number two was to warn the camp of attack, which meant that survival wasn't as much of a   
priority as getting within yelling distance of the camp was. Gee, wasn't I just a little ray of optimism   
. . . must be lack of sleep.

I was trapped, in some bizarre scene from one of Serra's romance novels. Running frantically   
through the forest, tripping over my heels, pathetically fleeing my malicious pursuer. . . I resent being   
cast as the damsel in distress, if only I had my magic. . .

I stumbled, tripping. I let out a muffled yelp as I managed to catch myself against a tree. I tried to   
regain my footing, but really . . . even in a forest where I have a movement advantage over horses,   
I'm no match for a purebred battle steed. I was too late in recovering, and the paladin raised his   
throwing arm.

I seem to remember Serra saying something about this situation from her novels, as well . . . at this   
point, some 'dashing hero' would leap from the air behind me, brandishing a magic blade, defeating   
the 'dastardly villian' and then proceed to whisk 'beautiful damsel' away to their impromptu wedding.

I really should have tried to dodge, or move, or SOMETHING as he aimed directly at my face, but   
my mind was too busy stupidly thinking something along the lines of 'So, where's the hero?'

A bolt of light sizzled past my nose . . . light magic, my mind registered dully, as it struck the paladin   
on the shoulder. His aim thrown off -- understandable, as being struck by a firey bolt of lightning can  
be a bit distracting -- the spear whistled over my head and clattered noisily across the rocks.

"Lucius!" Wielding a Light Brand, a Hero DID slide in front of me, twirling his sword with an expert   
flourish. I found enough strength to blink foolishly. " . . . Lord Raven?"

. . . Alright, so if Lord Raven's the 'dashing hero' I suppose being the damsel in distress isn't all that   
bad a role . . .

"L-Lord Raven!" I blinked again, and shook my head to clear my thoughts. Yes, it was Lord Raven.  
Nice noun, how about a few verbs? "W-What are you doing here?"

The enemy looked down at the hero as if he were no more than a pesky distraction to be crushed. I  
winced . . . one thing about Raymond, he's proud to a fault. His stubborness and pride make him a   
hassle to talk to, but in battle they make him a force to be reckoned with. He narrowed his eyes against   
our opponents's scorn, and regripped his swordhandle.

"Lucius," He said steadily, "The camp's been attacked. There's a spellbook of yours in my pack, dig it   
out." I did so, fumbling the book into my arms, barely catching it.

The paladin seemed amused by this, obviously not thinking I was much of a threat. I really did have to   
agree with him there. Normally, I wouldn't be worried. But you see, as much as I hate to state the   
obvious . . . Raven, he has a sword. He's very good with it and all, but the enemy paladin . . . he had  
a lance. And well, while I might not exactly be an expert at the finer points of close combat, I know   
that lances best swords.

I blinked at the spellbook in my arms. It was thicker then all of my books, would I be able to use it?   
I hefted it over to check the spine. . . Aura?

This spellbook . . . wasn't one of mine. I wasn't even sure if I could use it or not . . . I pried it open,   
trying to ignore the clanging of metal on metal. The symbols were familiar, at least . . . I chanted the   
latin as fast and clearly as I could, hoping that it didn't turn out to be some sort of cleaning or utterly   
useless spell.

The paladin jerked up, finally getting it through his thick skull that I might actually be a threat. He lifted  
a rather large sword, almost as big as Raven's, and raising it, began to charge. There was no way  
either Raven or I could survive his critical attack . . . Raven tensed up, but didn't move from his  
protective stance in front of me.

My chanting raised pitch considerably. Lifting an arm, I felt the magic rise to a cresendo within me and  
I released the power with the final line. ". . . tui potentia arguo ut ego; propinquo, et servo!"

I winced from my own spell's power. I was scarcely braced for the blast of air hat followed, nor the  
loud shriek of the spell as it ripped the air. Light flashed against my eyelids, and it was more then a   
few seconds before I could bring up the courage to face the enemy again.

. . . problem was, there wasn't so much an enemy as much as a smoking bit of crater.

Raven didn't look half as shocked as I felt . . . in actuality, he didn't look shocked at all. He gave a   
curt nod and swung his sword blade from a ready position to it's casual resting place on his shoulder.  
It was as though he'd EXPECTED me all along to have the ability to unleash Elimine's divine wrath  
upon unsuspecting enemies. . . I was having trouble in deciding whether to gape at Raymond or at   
the spellbook in my lap.

. . . and a small, disgruntled voice at the back of my mind was managing to mumble, 'So much for   
damsel in distress . . . I guess this means no whisking off to a wedding?'

"Raven . . ." I said in a fainter voice then usual, "Where did you get this?"

He shrugged, an oddly expressive gesture for Raymond. "Enemy bishop. He was carrying it, and it  
looked useful."

I blindly began to follow him back to the camp. "Ah, right . . ." I said, sounding rather flat in my mild  
state of shock. "Useful . . ." I shook my head to clear it.

The camp seemed to recovering from a more serious part of the battle. I wrinkled my nose in   
distaste as I stepped over a brutally hacked body, wondering just who had thought it funny to give  
Karel a longsword. Karel near a regular sword is scary. . . Karel near any other kind of sword is  
just plain messy. I lifted my robes as daintily as possible to keep the blood from getting on them.

"Lucius, stay near the camp." I looked up at Raven, his face was set and he looked annoyed.   
Battle, to say the least, didn't bring out the best in him. "Stick to healing for awhile," he ordered,   
eyes glittering.

"I'll try, milord," I said softly, with a small bow. It had to be a small bow; any lower, and my hair   
would have dipped into that rather nasty looking puddle in front of me.

Lord Raven didn't look too happy with my answer, but he was being called to from our left. He gave  
me an annoyed look -- which my Raven senses translate into 'worried' -- but gave me a curt nod   
before briskly walking off.

Eliwood and the tactician were pointedly debating the fate of two captured bandits, hogtied to their  
right . . . that is, before Geitz decided to end the debate, and his hand axe cleanly knocked the   
heads off both of them. Both the tactician and Lord Eliwood blinked, and then gave a joint resigned  
sigh, rubbing their temples wearily.

Serra hadn't been as lucky as I, and HAD gotten blood on her robes, and was shrieking at Erk to   
do her laundry. Erk was beginning to glow from his suppressed annoyance, and I hoped Serra   
noticed before the mage had to release all that energy -- at her.

Matthew and Guy were arguing about who'd killed more. . . . apparently, all Matthew had done the  
entire battle was kill off enemies that had been weakened already by Guy, stealing from his kill count.   
Guy looked ready to start throttling the thief before Matthew grinned and leaned in close, whispering  
something in Guy's ear. The swordmaster . . . blushed heavily.

I wisely decided not to read into that.

"RATH!"

I winced as the girlish shriek sounded to my right . . . although it sounded very dstressed. My memory  
seemed to recall an archer with that self same call . . .

"Rath!" I heard Wil's voice wail again in a panicked tone. "H-Hey, stop, horse! Horse, I m-mean it!"  
A disjointed trot met my ears, and as I swivelled to meet it, I saw Kent rush forward to grab the   
reins of Rath's mare . . . a mare which had only one rider, Wil.

My mind dimly thought 'Well, at least he hasn't fallen off yet' before realizing the connotations of a   
Rath-less horse. Lyn must have realized this before me and darted over to Wil, helping him off the   
horse and rattling off questions at the same time.

Wil wailed out the answers the way he wailed out everything else: loudly. "We were practicing -- you  
know, riding and stuff -- and then WHAM! We were attacked by this gigantic horse guy! Rath   
drew his sword and yelled something Sacaen at his horse, and then the beast set off towards here,  
with me on it! And --"

The tactician broke into Wil's monologue, barking out extra orders in his/her urgent voice. "The   
battle's not over yet, dammit, the enemy reinforcements arrived! No -- I said, NO, don't mind that  
now, Lowen, get up!"

Needless to say, it's hard to ignore our resident strategist. "Sain, get over there, now! Kent, you  
too, and if Rath isn't dead already, give him this." Kent caught the pro-offered Elixer with an   
expert catch, and the tactician turned and commanded the rest of us, "I want the north edge of   
camp fortified with --"

As people scrambled to obey his/her orders, I knelt by Wil, who was now trying to hold back   
tears at the mention of Rath's possible death. Wil looked blinkly at the earth by his knee, and   
then up at me.

"He was. . . buying me time, wasn't he?"

Now I could tell that Wil was dead serious due to three startling facts. He had, for one, just   
spoken in a reasonably coherantly formed sentence. For two, my ears weren't humming from   
Wil's usual volume. And three . . . he had a stratling lack of grin on his face. Wil was Very Serious.

Well, I certainly couldn't lie . . . I bit my lip. "I-It sounds like it," I admitted hesitantly, hoping he  
didn't decide to do anything stupid. A few moments later I realized, my hopes were in vain.

I couldn't help but be able to feel the emotional waves coming from him, he seemed to ooze his  
feelings in the most childlike way possible, to the point of his eyes brimming with tears of   
frustration. He roughly rubbed his fist across his eyes, and then looked up at me in an something  
akin to helpless anger. ". . . I'll go after him."

What? I blinked down at him, perhaps my sleep deprived mind wasn't interpreting this right . . . no,  
I got that right . . . Wait, WHAT?! Was he insane? There were Elimine knows how many troops  
in those forests, and without a close combat back-up unit? He'd be dead in three seconds flat! I   
opened my mouth to tell him so, before I was interrupted.

"No, don't you DARE tell me not to go, because I've just made up my mind!" He began to struggle  
valiantly to his feet, having collapsed from his emotional fit. I think I must have looked pretty   
foolish, being told off by one of the camps permanent sugar highs, but luckily most of the camp   
was already following the tactician's orders and heading north. Wil looked blankly at our migraing   
comrades, and it was a moment before I relized that he really and truly wasn't joning them.

I had to swivel to find him walking in the opposite direction. You should know, as one of our few   
long distance attackers -- including myself -- he was a crucial part of all our battle plans, and here  
he was, walking off. This was going to utterly ruin the tactician's defensive strategy . . . What   
was I doing? I had to do something!

"Wil," I yelped, following him, "Those aren't our orders! We're supposed to be back up for the  
north side of camp!" A new fact struck me. "And . . . And if you're going to save Rath, he's   
THAT way, not anywhere in THIS direction!" And I thought Wallace had a bad sense of   
direction . . . well, yes, Wallace does have a bad sense of direction, but if this was a sign of   
Wil's cluelessness worsening . . .

"Well, yeah, I need to get something first, it's just in here." Wil abrubtly ducked into a tent -- a tent   
which wasn't his. I gawked at the tent, before stuttering, "W-Wil, wait! T-That' the TACTICIAN'S  
tent!" He certainly hadn't asked if he could go in there! "That's stealing! Wil! WIL!!" The archer   
popped out of the tent, ignoring me to the best of his abilities -- which was pretty good, considering  
how blatantly oblivious he could be.

"It's not really, really stealing," He said in an almost stern voice -- 'almost' being the key word, as  
his tone was closer to 'righteously pouty'. "I mean, it's not like it wasn't gonna be given to me   
anyway." He opened his tightly clenched fist to reveal a silvery, strangely thin and overly long arrow,  
before almost gingerly twirling it between his fingers. I blinked at the Orion's Bolt, then up at Wil.

"Surely . . ." I gaped up at him hesitantly. "You don't mean to use that!"

"Yup." Wil's tone was shockingly blithe, as he began a brisk and half-skipping walk, which I had  
to jog to keep up with. Wil continued to jabber as we made our way through the now mostly   
empty camp; the tactician having sent most our units to the north end. "I kinda have to, if I want to   
get to Rath in time. We didn't bring our bows, Rath's only got his sword and no offense to him or   
anything, but he's not very good yet. The Kutolah aren't a tribe for swords and blades and stuff, Lyn  
told me that was more the Lorca and Creeoki thing . . .so he needs my help, right?"

Yes, that may be . . . "But --"

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," Wil pointed out. "I mean, I can go on my own. It's not  
like I haven't gone solo before, I can do this, I know I can . . . I can't NOT be able to, after all, so   
. . . " the archer trailed off as his voice wavered, and his steady walk staggered for a moment, before  
he looked down to his hand and the arrow that lay in it. " . . . and this is going to make me stronger."  
I winced at the reference to the object in his fist.

"Of course I have to come!" I found myself saying. "The tactician didn't send a healer along with you  
or Kent or the others, I must go!" After all, what if they were hurt? In any case, Rath was definitely  
going to need my help, he couldn't have fought with his premature sword abilities and not have   
recieved any injuries . . . I decided to not mention this in front of Wil, as he might find a new use for that  
Orion's Bolt involving the arrow's pointy end and my skull.

Surprisingly, Wil didn't talk as we made our way to their training ground. That was fairly worrisome,   
as was the sight of his brows frowning in concentration. Wil rarely frowned, and his silence was oddly  
even more distracting then his incessant chatter.

But upon reaching the lightly forested area, it was the scuffling sounds that drew my attention.

Rath. The nomad, at the very least, was still alive.

He wasn't as bad with a sword as the others had made him out to be. Rath's usually stoic form was   
putting on quite a show, his scimitar flitting back and forth between the small crowd of opponents he'd  
attracted to himself. From what I could tell, the horseman the Wil had spoken of was already taken   
care of and laying limply on the ground, but had been replaced by three axemen.

Why weren't Kent and the others here yet? . . . Oh, right . . . horses don't move as fast through   
forests, we'd made better time then they had, obviously . . .

Wil isn't very observant for an archer, and his eyes widened upon seeing the nomad. "RATH!" Wil   
screamed. It was a useless gesture when I practically leaped on him to clap my hand to his mouth --   
we certainly didn't need to be noticed -- but it was too late. The three bandits and the nomad jerked  
up, Rath taking the opportunity to stumble back for some room.

Rath . . . wasn't normally one to stumble. He was obviously injured, and it was then I noticed the   
growing patches of red that littered his torso and arms. They were dificult to see against his orange   
and brown clothing.

One of the bandits broke off, deciding to take his chances with Wil and I. We certainly didn't look  
as threatening as Rath. Most likely because between the two of us, Wil and I had a threatening   
factor lying somewhere around 'wounded rabbit.'

Now normally, I'm alot faster then Wil, but the sudden oddness in the air made me fumble as I   
fingered open my spellbook. I glanced at Wil, and my cause of uneasyness was clear.

It was still Wil standing there. But . . . his eyes seemed sharper, his stance and shoulders set more   
determinedly, his bow had grown as tall as he was, and the shimmering Orion's Bolt he had been   
notching had dulled to a normal wooden arrow. The archer -- no, the SNIPER -- drew back the   
bowstring.

His eyes slitted, and with a hiss the arrow was promptly released into the face of the approaching   
bandit. I winced and looked the other way before it hit the target -- and I know it hit the target,   
because aforementioned target's last pained gurgle was a rather unpleasant testament to that. Once  
I heard the reassuring 'thump' as the body hit the ground, I began to furiously chant at one of the   
remaining bandits.

Wil didn't have enough time to notch another arrow, as Rath had cut down a bandit and my magic   
brought down the last. I winced as the resulting crater made Wil blink, but he in all honesty the sniper  
wasn't all that concerned with me at the moment.

"RATH!" Wil shrieked, and launched himself in the nomad's direction. I followed, and Wil began to   
babble.

Waving my staff over Rath -- it was only a Heal staff, it took several waves -- as Wil dangled   
shamelessly off the nomad's arm was a difficult task. "Rath! Rath, you're okay, that's good, right?   
I mean, of course it's good, but Rath, you had me WORRIED!"

". . . You should not have come." Rath looked at Wil reprimandingly. This got through to Wil more   
effectively then even the tactician's reprimands (and those were hard to ignore), and he stepped   
back, mumbling at his feet for a moment. Wil never mumbles, he's always very clear with his words.  
Loud, yes, but clear.

Rath took the small moment of silence to give me a nod of thanks, and I stepped back, making a   
show of walking several feet away and becoming absorbed in my Aura tome. The fact that I was   
still intently listening  
in on them could be easily overlooked, couldn't it?

Wil very quickly snapped out of his quasi-apologetic state, and reattached himself to the nomad's   
arm even -- if possible -- harder then before. "But it's good I came right? I mean, I saved your life   
by popping up, you couldn't've won against three guys at once! A-And Lucius!"

I jerked up at the sound of my name, but he wasn't paying me any mind, still clinging to Rath the  
way he was. "I mean, you might've bled to death if I hadn't brought Lucius!" he wailed desparately.  
What exactly was he desperate FOR, anyway?

Rath peered stolidly down at Wil, and then -- to my complete shock -- offered a small smile at   
Wil. Rath. Smiling. This was an unheard of event in my book.

"Yes, Wil, I am grateful." Rath, apparently, was in the habit of acting completely un-Rath-like   
when in Wil's presence. I tried to look casual and unnoticing as I turned the page blankly.

"He-ey, wait, what? Where's the fight?"

I turned. Sain rode into the clearing, the horse tossing it's head to free itself from the feel of the  
tree branches against it's nose. "I missed it?" He pouted, and turned to Kent, who was   
following behind him. "Ke-ent, we missed it!" Sain whined loudly.

Kent brushed off Sain with well-practiced ease, and dug his heels into his steed.

I looked up at Rath and Wil, and sidestepped off to the right as Kent wheeled and sidled his  
mount beside us, the horse nickering quietly. "Is everybody OK?" He frowned at us. "What   
are you doing here? You're supposed to be to the southeast of here . . ."

"Yeah, we are." Wil answered evenly, with a wide grin. Kent gave him a quizzical and then an   
almost reprimanding look, but wisely didn't say anything else on the matter. It's nice to know that   
at least some people in the camp have common sense.

Sain looked bored. "Kent, what do we do now? There's nothing to DO here."

Kent shook his head. "For once, he's right . . ." I heard Kent mumble in a voice not loud enough   
for Sain to hear. In a louder tone, he said. "Yes, let's head back to camp."

"Ooh! Ooh ooh ooh!" Wil bounced on the balls of his feet, pointing south. "Look!"

Kent did a doubletake, and Sain blinked blankly. I had to turn to see what my companions were   
looking at, and then wished I hadn't.

It was a general, armed with a steel axe; a living montain of impenetrable armor and steel, a moving   
arsenal, capable of taking me out in one well-aimed blow. His steps were slow, and his armor almost  
shook the ground, it was so heavy-set. I wondered just how many hit points he had. Quite a lot.

We stared for a bit, our small group blinking silently at the newcomer. The general might or might   
now have blinked back; he had a very large helmet on that made it hard to tell. Sain, predictably,   
broke the silence. "Well, he doesn't look too happy. Who's that?"

"The enemy leader." Kent said flatly, turning to face the general full on, readjusting his lance with   
serious intent.

"Kent!" Sain yelped from atop his horse, the creature beneath him sensing his unease and dancing  
nervously. "T-That's the enemy CAPTAIN! You can't take him on!"

"Of course I can," Kent answered tritely.

The green social knight attempted to block Kent's path. "Let me rephrase that: You can't take  
him on, and SURVIVE, how's that?!"

Sain had a point. The captain, as Sain had dubbed the new opponent, was nearly twice as large   
as the more wiry cavalier, and the armor -- painted in a gaudy motif of ibis red and a puce   
yellow -- made him impossible to get a hit against. Generals have incredably high defense . . .

Kent looked at Sain, then at the enemy. He wheeled indecisively before turning back towards   
us, probably figuring it wouldn't be very dutiful to die in an all out suicide charge. ". . . fine . . ."   
he muttered, scanning the surroundings. "We can't take him on alone, but we can outrun him to  
camp. . . . "

Rath mounted the stallion that was formerly of the horseman he'd killed. "We ride," He agreed   
in a shocking demonstration of vocabulary, leaning over and in a swift move, hauling Wil onto  
the horse with him.

Wil looked rather pitiful as he tried to suppress his squealing.

I quickly scurried next to Kent's mount -- it was either ride with Kent or ride with Sain, and   
unsurprisingly I chose Kent -- and Kent hauled me up as well.

I began to understand Wil's fear of horses after Kent yanked into a determined gallop. I stifled   
a squeal of my own as I latched onto the first grip I could get to -- Kent -- and clung for dear life.

It was bumpy, the wind was messing up my hair, and the horse was sweaty and rather smelly,   
and seemed determined to scare me witless, what with it's blind halting run through the woods.   
Kent wasn't making things any easier for me, either, what with him actually approving of said   
demon horse and it's aforementioned blind run.

The trip to the camp was only seven minutes or so, but it was seven minutes too long. I don't   
know the route we took to get there, because I had my eyes squeezed shut the entire time. . . not  
that there's anything wrong with that. . .

I only knew we'd reached our destination because Kent somehow managed to pry me off the back   
of his shirt and deposit me on the ground. I wobbled on my feet, the shock of actually having my feet   
on the dirt making it a hard decision over whether to fall to my knees and kiss the blessed, blessed   
ground, or to kick the horse. I admit, I was leaning towards the kicking idea.

We'd ended up directly behind the front lines, where the strategist could be seen milling about, yelling  
at random troops.

Kent was very . . . to the point. "Milady . . . er, Milord . . . er . . . Tactician! We are pursued by a high  
level armored adversary, from due southeastof here. Orders?"

The tactician wasn't very happy at this latest bit of news. "DAMMIT!" In a swirl of robes, he/she   
whirled on Kent, rattling out an almost indecipherable flurry of words. "Get Nino, she's over there   
-- Lord Pent, too, if he's not off snogging Louise again -- and Erk, accompany her!"

He/She snapped to me. "Lucius! Find Raven, if he isn't already trailing you, and get him to follow  
the other spellcasters."

For being a tactician, he/she was not particulary tactful. I nodded in affirmation, and glanced around.   
Raven was supposed to be on the front line, not a safe place for liltle ol' me to be. However, I'd   
been conditioned from near birth to follow orders, so I headed north, to where the combat was   
growing . . . surprisingly heavy.

I could see Lord Eliwood, Guy, and Florina fighting off a seemingly endless supply of fighters with   
relative ease. It defied too many laws of physics to pull off half the moves they were pulling, (ie Guy   
splitting into six people, and Farina actually owning a flying horse) but the opposing side was losing,  
and that was what counted in these things.

"Lucius, what are you doing here?" Guy shouted from some distance away. "Get back, you aren't   
supposed to be here!"

"I have to find Raven!" I shouted back. "Have you seen him?"

Guy didn't answer right away, due to being busy cleaving an enemy fighter's arm off. "Ew . . . Oh   
man, uh, no! Ask Matthew, he's around here . . ." With a cursory gance around the battlefield, he  
hacked at another fighter and shook his head. ". . . somewhere. . ."

I waved my thanks and peered around, leaping out the way of a sloppily swung axe as Lord   
Eliwood skewered the offending wielder. He too, looked concerned that I was there, but didn't   
have the chance to act on it as he was very busy in the act of slaughter.

Matthew's usually tell-tale red cape wouldn't help me find him here. Red was everywhere; usually  
in the process of being spattered in every which way. It was very messy, and very distasteful, and   
I found myself thanking Elimine -- once more -- that I was a long distance fighter.

There wasn't much I could except wander around and hope I bumped into him. A very thin chance,  
and could prove to be detrimental to my health, if you brought the flying bits of metal and various   
sharp, pointy objects into consideration. And if you then brought my impossibly low luck score into  
play . . . it wasn't good.

However, I really didn't have a choice as --

"LUCIUS!"

The rough bark from behind me was unmistakable. Raymond! Perhaps I had some amount of   
luck after all. I swiveled by sheer reflex, just beginning to form a response. "Lord Ra --"

My voice echoed faintly against the thick armor I was suddenly nose to nose with. The general --   
the enemy leader, the captain of the opposing troops -- was right there beside me, holding a rather  
large axe . . . The corner of my eye caught Raven yanking a sword from the nearest person and  
dashing towards me . . .

Predictably, I did the worst possible thing, and fell promptly backwards. I scrambled back,   
retreating clumsily to put space between me and the goliath enemy.

I'm not sure exactly how to describe what happened next without sounding completely insane . . .   
but to put it bluntly, Lord Raven . . . jumped. A good dozen feet or so, into the air. I had no idea  
he was capable of something like that.His sword came up and for a single shining moment, he   
seemed to hover, suspended by forces beyond my coomprehension.

And then he crashed down, cleaving into the General's armor like warm butter.

. . .That was it. The battle was over.

Mumbled comments half-drifted from the crowd, barely mistakable from the hush since no one   
seemed to want to incur Raven's considerably more influential wrath.

". . . a bit of an anticlimax, that . . ."

". . . is he paid more then me? He used to be a merc, right . . . ?"

". . . my blade, it sings for his blood . . ."

" . . . Welll, I wasn't expecting THAT, but hey, the guy's dead now, right?"

. . . That last comment must have been Wil, seeing as he's the only one in camp who simply   
can't refrain from stating the obvious whenever possible, as loudly as possible.

Quite honestly, I don't think ANY of us had expected that. . . Least of all Raven.

Ever since using the Hero Crest and making the change from a mere mercenary (not that he was  
ever 'mere,' this is what he said) to the hero class, he'd never once pulled a critical hit. It hadn't   
been necessary, since he hit hard enough as it was.

The fact that he was using Guy's infamous Killing Edge was the only reason he'd been able to   
do so, and he seemed to realize it as he looked down at the sword. The blue eyed swordmaster  
shifted uneasily at his blade's close inspection, as though afraid Raven might find some sort of  
imperfection with it. An unnecessary fear, actually; Guy spent more time caring for his weaponry  
then any other -- minus Karel, of course, and his odd sword fixation.

Abrubtly, Raven let out a half snort and gave the weapon what appeared to be a casual toss,   
but it ended up burying itself -- blade first -- into the ground not even five inches from Guy's feet.  
The Sacaen didn't do a very good job of suppressing his gulp, but he drew the sword from the   
earth, and after a cursory brush-off and inspection, Guy sheathed it once more with a metallic rasp.

The sword 'clicked' into place, and with that, Raymond's attention, in his current concentrated state  
of mind, was promptly onto his next issue of importance.

His eyes snapped to mine with such clarity there was an almost audible crack.

There's not much I can do in those sorts of situations, really. I follow Lord Raven, something   
goes wrong, and inevitably we always end up in a similar situation -- me, trying to look tiny after  
saying or doing something wrong, and my attempts being completely in vain as milord drags me  
aside and gives me a thorough tongue-lashing for whatever it was.

I never did like those little sessions. . . I don't have many options, as I said, except to try and look  
as harmless as possible. I look pathetic as it is, and I can't imagine the new lows I reach when  
I actually TRY to look so.

However, Lord Raymond seemed to have built a sort of immunity to me, as he did nothing but  
begin to walk very determinedly towards me. There's no point in trying to act vulnerable and  
helpless anymore once he grabs my wrist like that. . . at that point, I AM vulnerable and helpless.

And dragging me behind him like a flag through a wind, Raven deliberately sets off -- his hand still  
in a vice around my wrist -- directly past the growing crowd into a secluded part of the woods. I   
tried to give reassuring smiles, but my stumbling half jog behind Raymond made it difficult.

. . . tthere goes his 'remaining separate from me' ploy, my mind whispered smugly. I winced as I   
silently agreed. . . then again, if what Matthew had said once was true, everyone knew anyway.

The murmuring faded into silence behind us, and Raven drew his Light Brand -- it was named   
Light Brand for a reason, and in the early sunset haze, I could tell it was giving off a glow of it's   
own. It would serve as an adequate light source once night fell . . . . and it seemed that Lord   
Raven was planning on keeping me that long, and after.

He was, it seemed, confident we had not been followed, since the moment we got to a quiet and   
relatively open space, he whirled on me, releasing my wrist from a grip more suited to a sword hilt   
then my arm.

"I told you to stay near the camp!" He shot the closest thing to a glare he'd ever shot at me, and   
I struggled to suppress a cringe. I looked at him and opened my mouth to protest, but he wasn't   
finished. "You said you would," Raymond looked severely annoyed and distraught, but to most he  
would just register as angry. He was that, too.

"I . . ." My swallow wasn't very self encouraging. "I said I'd try, and I did --"

Lord Raven shook his head, and in a rare show of emotion, turned to the side, running his fingers   
worriedly through his hair. His voice came out softer then usual, and trailed off as though it wasn't   
meant to be heard. "You deliberately disobeyed me. . . "

Those words hit me like a shock of cold water. I had done no less then promised, even though what   
I had done had been against everyone's orders but my own. This did not bother me so much as the   
perceived underlying meaning. "You . . . you don't trust me?" It came out in little more then a strangled   
whisper.

He jerked his head up to face me, an incredulous look on his face. "Of course I trust you!" he seemed  
shocked that I'd even   
assumed it.

"Then . . ." I was at a loss, and completely confused. "Then what --"

"I don't know." My question was cut off with acerbic alacrity, yet his voice was not as sure as it might   
have been . . . I can always, always tell when people are lying . . .

" . . . yes, you do know." I murmured distantly. Raven stopped, his apprehensive look catching me off   
guard. If he trusted me so much, then why was he lying to me? Why was he not telling me, if he didn't   
trust me? I stepped forward, one hand on my chest and the other gesturing widely. "I know when you're  
lying . . . please, please tell me . . . why are you . . ."

Raven turned away, and froze as his voice came out half strangled. "Don't make this hard on me, Lucius."   
It was so quiet I'm surprised I could hear it at all.

"Lord Raymond, please! I've always been loyal to you! Always!" On impulse, I reached forward and   
grabbed his arm. "Please, let me know why you're --"

"Don't, Lucius." The whispered word cut me off, the quiet force of it unnerving. Raymond turned   
blazing eyes to me. I stepped back unvoluntarily, even though it wasn't the roiling, burning emotions  
coiled in the lines of his face that scared me. It was the opposite . . . I hadn't seen that look on his  
face before, in all of our life together. . . . and I found myselfwanting to keep the vivacity and   
smoldering life in that expression.

He swung towards me, grabbing my shoulders and bringing his forehead almost carefully against  
mine.

Don't," he repeated, more harshly, his eyes so close to mine that I was almost cross-eyed looking  
up at him. "DON'T say you didn't ask for this." The ferocious intensity of his words were belied   
by a calloused hand gently stroking my temple, and as his other arm slipped cautiously around   
my waist, my sleep deprived mind completely shut down

His eyes remained half-lidded as his head bent towards mine. I looked up at him, my eyes wide.

They didn't stay wide for long.

His lips fell on mine, and my eyes snapped shut as I sank against him. He was . . so warm . . .

His lips roughly massaged against my own, slightly chapped and desperately working to get closer.  
I found myself making a tiny moan and leaning in, and in response Raven's arm curled even more  
tightly around my waist, pulling me towards him even closer, pressing us hip to hip and chest to  
chest as his tongue snaked out of his mouth to lick my lower lip.

At the added contact my eyes fluttered open for almost half a second and my mouth opened to   
let out a small noise -- not out of protest, I assure you -- and found it soon swallowed by questing  
tongue. To me, this was adding even more to the shock of it all, and I could only try my hardest   
to return the favor, although it was hard to concentrate with the feel of him tracing the roof of my  
mouth and my cheek and running his hand through my hair and pressing my face even more   
strongly to his.

I could feel my body tingling with warmth and a peculiar need, and I felt very safe and warm and  
unprepared and ready and -- and then --

Then . . . lack of. I opened my eyes blearily, trying to refocus -- I'd gone cross-eyed for some   
reason -- and managed to salvage some amount of my senses. Awareness of my position slowly  
came registered: half standing, half carried by a strong pair of arms, weakly trying to stay standing  
and yet knowing it was completely unecessary since aforementioned strong arms wouldn't let me   
fall to begin with. Looking up, dazedly, at shocked crimson eyes and tousled red hair . . . it was   
rather nice, actually . . .

And then the full portents of what had just happened hit me.

Lord Raven had kissed me.

He. Had. Kissed. Me. Not just anyone, but me. Raymond. Me. I blinked up at him, and felt the  
heat on my face grow stronger as my flush deepened.

From the start, I hadn't been sure what to do, but I found that I'd hesitantly wormed an arm to   
his shoulder and left the other loosely grasping his belt. I was then fairly sure that my feeble attempts  
to return the actual kiss were . . rather pathetic. I felt my voice waver as I began to say, "I . . . I'm  
not very good at that . . . I'm sorry, it's . . . it's just I've never done that before --"

"You haven't?" The voice was soft, uncharacteristic of Raven, yet managing to fit him perfectly. "Lucius,   
who was it you were attracted to?"

No use hiding it now. "You."

I took in another breath as he leaned in, right by my ear. His dusky breath hit my ear and my breath   
hitched. "Hn." his throaty approving sound rumbled pleasently through his chest to mine. We were   
still standing very close, and I didn't mind at all "You . . ." I hated myself for being so doubtful. "You   
really don't mind?"

"That would be hypocritical of me." He hadn't seen fit to remove his lips from my ear, and I could feel  
them form the words against my skin.

To this day, I don't think I'll ever get over the look in his eyes when he leaned back and just stared   
at me. No words need, none at all between us. . . it would cheapen things, just then, and if he was   
content with the silent searching of eyes, then I was as well.

And then I leaned in and placed what began as a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth. Note, it only  
BEGAN as such. . . .

After another long, drawn out kiss, we somehow ended up in a tangle of limbs and leaves, Raven   
leaning back against the smooth side of a birch and with me part dragged, part fallen, and part draped  
ontop of his torso.

I felt a yawn rising up, and I fought to keep it down . . . with no success. Raven frowned at me, and I  
blushed.

"Tired?" He questioned mildly -- mildly for him, anyway, but his voice had no real bite to it.

I felt my sheeks warming again, to my horror, and tried ineffectually to look away. "Not . . . not really,  
truly tired . . ." I tried to mumble, but Raven cut me off. He interrupts people more then he realizes, I   
think.

"Sleep."

I opened my mouth to protest, but didn't get very far as Raven just kissed me again to make me shut   
up. Not that I minded this, but a few bone-melting seconds later he pulled back and said -- in an even  
hoarser tone -- "Go to sleep, Lucius. I'll keep watch for you."

So . . . I did.

In an epilogue of sorts, Raven DID watch over me while I slept, even though I slept the whole night   
through right there in his arms. Apparently the tactician practically had a cornorary when he/she found  
we didn't return right away. . . Wil seemed to have exaggerated Raven's reactions when he retold the   
tale.

Of course, the fact that Matthew and Guy spent the night away from camp as well couldn't have helped   
either.

But the thing is, that day in my mind couldn't have been more perfect. . . don't give me that look. Yes,  
it was a bit, shall we say, over-eventful, but . . . I don't think I would change it if I could.

I can't help but worry him too much, but he says he wouldn't have it any other way. He continues  
to watch over me when I sleep. I . . . I still can't get over that . . . but then again, I don't really  
want to, either. . .

So . . . I don't.

.

.

.

ore wa owari

.

.

.


End file.
